


Another New Cologne

by DarrenButt, YoungAndOverIntelligent (DarrenButt)



Category: Glee
Genre: Klaine, M/M, cheerleader!Blaine, kitty!kurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-05-30 00:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 105,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15085307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarrenButt/pseuds/DarrenButt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarrenButt/pseuds/YoungAndOverIntelligent
Summary: Being different is awful, and no one knows that better than Kurt. Kitty!Kurt and Cheerio!Blaine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has graphic mentions of harassment of all kinds, including sexual and physical. If you are easily affected or triggered by sexual abuse, I do not think it'll be an easy read for you. Take care of yourself<3

_o-O-o_

_If there is one thing that I, Kurt Hummel, has learned from living life with 25% feline DNA, it’s that life’s terrible if your societal differences are so pronounced as having cat ears and a tail._

_Eventually, society will kick you down from whatever high you are on. For anything that you gain it will take away twice as much, all the while throwing in the same ill-witted insults that you have heard from the moment you were born, successfully reminding you that you are, ever-surely and irrefutably, different. And they will never accept or understand your hardships for what they truly are. Just in case you forgot that fact for more than two seconds._

_Eleven years ago I made international news when the police found me held captive in that basement. Not because the creep that was holding me was abusing me on a daily basis, as it should have, but because the ex-rouge mad scientist had altered my DNA from the time I was a microscopic cell until god-knows how late into my toddler years. News articles around the globe focused on my ears and tail and ‘unprecedented love for Salmon’, rather than the absolute hell-hole that was my life and all I’ve ever known until that day I was discovered._

_Let it be acknowledged here that my life until I was six years old is not a happy, trigger-safe story that I wish to relive every moment of my life with your taunts. I was beaten, raped, enslaved, and made to believe that every second of my life was owed to my predator. I was malnourished. I was never allowed outside. The only time I was allowed upstairs was every night when he took me up into his bedroom._

_Afterwards, he tossed me back into my cage._

_Society has always glossed over my abuse. Because- oh look, he has a tail! I wonder if it hurts when you tug on it? The media focuses on that because it sells in this society. Scorning the abnormal is seen as entertainment. A sell point._

_Luckily, I was found quite young just before my seventh birthday- I use the term ironically, of course, because I wasn’t so much birthed as I was taken out of my test tube. The date is not something I am typically fond of. News articles say only this much:_

_I have two sets of ‘parents’- two human and two feline. As luck would have it, my two human parents are the most miraculous beings I could ever hope for. 18 years ago Elizabeth and Burt Hummel found out that Elizabeth had a condition that registered her infertile; crushing their dreams of pregnancy. She was devastated by the news. Devastated enough that a year later, when Burt stumbled upon someone willing to fertilize and nurture her eggs for her, she jumped on the opportunity._

_They both gave their reproductive DNA and waited by the phone for months._

_When they finally found the number again and called back, they were told that the experiment to fix her infertile eggs had failed, and they were ‘_ oh so sorry but have you ever thought of adoption?’

_Meanwhile the insane scientist geared straight out of some shitty 80’s horror movie was moving to a remote location and finding himself a nice pair of cats to start splicing and incubating his perverted experiment._

_Me._

_Six years and no child later, my parents finally managed to track down the guy who ran around nilly-willy with their baby-juice in a remote town in Northern Florida across the street from the Senior Home Theme Park._

_The police got involved, and the idiot thought the best case of action was to ignore their threats of getting a warrant long enough for them to actually get one. And that, my friends, is the story of how the media found out about my pitiless excuse of a life, along with the entire chronicle of how I came to be; so nicely filed together in one big filing cabinet right next to the test-tube I was crafted in._

_And my parents, the angels that they are, fought to keep me against the Government, who wanted to subject me to more needles and tests to truly find out ‘what I am’, despite the fact that my entire life story was extensively written out for them in black and white. And because I was, and am, technically of their blood and DNA, they won custody over me. Amusingly, the court also technically deemed my cat parents equal ownership of me. They’re probably both dead by now, but if you have any leads, let a guy know._

_Burt and Elizabeth were indeed angels in my life. They nourished me back to health with the help of a magnificent therapist and taught me what love was. My mother, specifically, was amazing. She took time off of work, was patient with me, and helped me get through my fears and anxieties. My therapist was ready to hop in a car and drive two hours for me 24/7, and one year even on Christmas. While this was happening, Burt worked relentlessly to pay for my expenses and therapy at his tire shop. Without all three of them, I would be nowhere today._

_But my life wasn’t finished fucking me up just yet. I was eight when I was put into the public school system. I was not illiterate, nor uneducated in the hands of my captor; just severely less so than a normal six year old child. Elizabeth homeschooled me until I was eight and I took my test to get myself into the third grade._

_It was hell. The media was relentless. There were snot-nosed parents who didn’t want me mingling with their equally snot-nosed kids. I was bullied like no other kid ever could be. I never thought I was a freak until that year when I had every kid and literally their mothers telling me I was one._

_To top it all off, seven months later Elizabeth died in a car crash. The reports might not legally state it, but I’m the son of a mechanic. Her car was tampered with._

_It’s been Burt and me ever since. I’ve held my head up high for so long for him. Sometimes it gets to me- what society says I am. Those of you who aren’t cursing at me think of me as some creepy fetish, and neither of those are something I wish to succumb to. Sometimes I think about just making everything simpler and ending it. But I can’t do that to Burt. He lost everything when he took me in, lost Elizabeth because of some idiots who thought a good prank to play on us, because of me, was to loosen the bolts in her wheels; I’m not going to let him lose what we have because of me again._

_I try to be strong. I’ve developed a delightful sense of wit and sarcasm from my suffering; though I suspect the cat genes help with that too, somewhat. I won’t hold back my tongue._

_And I guess I’m scared that eventually it’ll all be too much. I am strong. I want nothing more than to show it to you assholes. But there is only so much someone can take before it’s physically impossible to not be crushed by the weight others throw onto them. One of the many downsides of being part-cat is having this innately real pessimistic streak brought on by having acute instincts._

_And I guess my whole point of starting this rant is that I shouldn’t_ have _to be so strong. Is it that fucking hard to just accept me? I have the morals and understanding of a human. Me being part cat is not my goddamn fault._

_Do you think I asked to be born in a test tube? Do you think I want to be considered a different species? Mutant? You’re singling me out as the one to blame in a horrible situation that has nothing to even do with you. The man who is to blame is doing 25 to life already for misuse of government equipment._

_Yeah, that’s right. Not for raping, beating, and enslaving a child on a daily basis. For fucking with the government’s toys._

_For ten years I never got any of the rewards I deserved. Imagine a nine-year-old’s disappointment for the only reason being denied a spot in the school play “Why would George Washington have a tail?!” As if suddenly the world was going to stop on its axis because of an Ohioan Elementary School Play about the woes of Young America. All I want is to be able to sip my morning coffee without someone trying to harness a leash on me._

_I’ve given up on a lot of things. Some things that people should never have to give up on. Ever finding an employer that will take me on. A decent future. Love. Who would ever want those with me? I’ve given up on things like that. The only person who would ever hire me is Burt. And I’m afraid that if I start working at his shop it’ll be the end of his business._

_Now, those of you who say I deserve it, I tell you this: I am a victim. I’m not contagious. I am in no way any more dangerous than any other seventeen year old boy. I am an animal, but so are you. We are neither better nor worse than each other except by how we treat those around us. Stop immediately hating something because it’s different._

_Let it be known that although I am only 75% human, I am still 100% a person and deserve to be treated like one._

Kurt Hummel clicked the stop recording button on his webcam and shut his laptop. The video piled into its folder, surrounded by around a hundred nearly identical others.

_o-O-o_

“ _Here, Kitty_ ,” came a looming, taunting voice as it passed him in the hall.

 _Oh god_ , Kurt thought to himself, exasperated. Honestly, he got this at least six times a day. He was used to the clicking of the tongues and that annoyingly high pitched call- both of which made his ears involuntarily twitch every time. You’d think after years of knowing each other his tormentors would eventually come up with some new taunts to throw, but no, they are all apparently too dense to ever contrive new ones.

And now Kurt is shunt with the same old question he always is. _Shall I make a quip or take the high road?_ They both have their ups and downs. It all comes down to whether he’s mad enough that his feelings outweigh the level of energy he has to conjure up to make an emergency exit or not. And being it’s 7:20 in the morning and he had been running too late to grab his morning coffee, he’s way too tired to protect himself if he needs.

Apparently, it wasn’t his choice this time. A hand had congealed itself around the middle of his tail and yanked hard. An involuntary shudder coursed through Kurt’s body, and the books he had in his hands cluttered to the floor.

It took all his strength to not hiss- oh god, would the sky fall if he actually _hissed_.  Luckily, Kurt’s been living like this for a while. He choked down his feline instincts enough to give himself a complex these days. All of the pent up energy did sort of provoke his anger, though, and he found himself letting out a more personified version of a hiss.

“You might want to wash your hand before my ‘ _disease’_ helps you ace your history test!” Kurt called after his letterman-jacket wearing bully.

It was Karofsky who yanked on him today. Kurt could still smell his vile scent in the air. Karofsky has been enthusiastic lately.

He straightened himself out, pulling his tail into his body and running his fingers through the hairs to smooth them back into place. The unsettling old urge to lick the spot clean was present, but that was an urge he’d long since gotten over. Hissing and mewling on accident was one thing, but hell will freeze over the day Kurt licks himself again. It’s been _years_ since he’s accidentally given into it.

Mustering himself up his dignity, Kurt began picking his books back up and shoving them into his locker at random. A familiar fire in his stomach helped him slam his locker shut to keep them from falling out again. It was kind of turning into that kind of day.

It’s been kind of turning into that kind of day for a couple of years now.

He started his trek to his homeroom on the opposite side of the building in the funk he always was in trying to navigate the halls of McKinley High. _Why are teenagers so noisy?_ Kurt asks himself everyday as each bunch of kids seems louder than last to his sensitive ears. He knows that normal people have less adept ears than he did, but there’s something about high schoolers that make them feel like they need to scream to each oth-

A hand landed on his shoulder.

Kurt spun around with sharp reflexes and snatched the hand by the wrist; a traitorous, loud hiss already leaving his lips before he could stop it. He could feel his face immediately start to redden from the noise.

The first thing Kurt noticed was the smell. It hit his nostrils like a truck to a wall, strong enough to make him dizzy.

It was a boy. A boy Kurt’s never seen before. Lima, Ohio is a very big small town; it’s vast with a huge population and a rumor mill that can pass a scoop like an airborne disease. Whether you’re into the gossip or not, everyone knows everyone else by name, face, and past sexual experiences. Kurt especially is equipped with an excellent memory as a defense mechanism. If someone so much as frowns in Kurt’s general direction, Kurt will remember it until the date he is cremated as someone to steer clear of.

Which is why Kurt is absolutely positive this boy is brand new. And that makes him one hell of a threat.

He has horribly brilliant honey colored eyes, awfully gelled down black hair. His lips were currently gaping in fright. Everything about him reeked old money in a way that had Kurt’s stomach churning. To top it all off he was wearing a bright red McKinley High Cheerio uniform, freshly pressed and wrinkle-free.

The more Kurt watched him, the more his instincts told him to run.

“I, um,” the boy was saying, his face falling slightly. “You dropped your book. Earlier. When- you were- When… you dropped it.”

In his left hand was Kurt’s Calculus book, which he must have missed in his earlier rage. The boy- he could have done anything to it by now. Why was he giving it to him? _And touching me- he had touched me-_

Kurt was taller than this boy by a lot, but Kurt could feel himself cowering down. Kurt dropped the wrist he was gripping as if it burned him white-hot. Without saying a word, Kurt spun on his heels and disappeared.

_o-O-o_

Eight periods later and Kurt could _still_ smell him. Strong and overpowering and dangerous. His entire body has been on alert all day; buzzing with anxiety as his instinct kept telling him to _go- flee the area- get home, get safe-_

But it was _fine_. Kurt was fine, and he was strong, and he was going to make it through the day if it killed him.

He told himself this all of the way until the last class of the day. He made it through catching whiffs of the scent all around the building in passing hallways and across the way. Three times Kurt caught a glimpse of the gelled hair; he never stayed long enough to risk having to walk past him. Kurt could work with escape routes.

But he wasn’t expecting _this_. He wasn’t expecting to _have a class with him_.

Kurt ducked his eyes down as to not make contact with him. He was trapped in the far back corner of the room, but luckily there was a window right next to him if-

_No, Kurt Hummel. You will not jump out of a fucking window in front of an entire classroom of your peers._

It was going to be fine. He scooted down into his chair and hid himself behind his copy of To Kill A Mockingbird. _He won’t even notice you. He probably can’t even see you all the way back here-_

But footsteps were padding lightly, gracefully, closer to Kurt’s corner seat; the thumping was quick, and for a moment Kurt feared that he was running, until he realized that it was just the thrumming in his ears-

Kurt had his eyes almost glued shut, but his ears detected a very soft _thud_ and they opened in time to watch as the boy sauntered away; sitting up front by the questionable Fellow-Cheerio Brittany Pierce.

His calculus book lay before him on his desk, a sticky note taped to the front.

_'Sorry for scaring you.'_

He spent the entire period ignoring the lesson in favor of staring at the back of that horribly gelled head. He needed to gather whatever he could on this boy that poses such a huge and obvious threat to him. Unfortunately, the only information he got was that he really liked to pay attention in class. And that his hair was probably an unruly mess of curls in its natural state. And reformation on his stance against full polyester uniforms.

Kurt forced himself to wait until the bell rang before he let himself flee the room, ignoring a set of prominent eyes he could feel on his back.

The textbook in his hands felt like it was burning.

_o-O-o_

Usually when Kurt got home from school he was _dying_ for an afternoon nap- especially on days when he ran late and couldn’t stop to pick up a proper cup of non-fat mocha before school. His body needed a good two-to-four hours of sleep more than normal people, thanks to his lovely modified genes. Today, however, he was way too antsy.

There was yet another box of cat food left so generously on his front doorstep this afternoon. Normally, Kurt would barely deadpan the dreadful excuse of torment. Today, however, it sparked him thankful for an excellent excuse of a distraction.

Around three times a week the Hummel front stoop would be greeted with different cat-essential needs varying from litter to catnip as an excuse for being witty. Burt was always very angry whenever he sees it, but luckily his suitors usually come between the hours of Burt leaving after lunch and Kurt coming home from school. Kurt makes sure to stash the presents under his bed neatly and then every couple of weeks he heads out to the animal shelter and donates it all.

He’s not sure if it’s the same person or a group of many people, but they should all be pleased to know that their harassment is keeping a very needy business alive.

He gathers all that he’s collected the past couple of weeks, shoves it into the passenger’s seat of his Navigator, and is on his way.

The ladies at the shelter, unlike everyone else in this town, were absolutely wonderful. They help him bring everything inside, ask him how his day is going, shove his hands full of whatever baked good Sheryl brought in and even jokingly ask if he’d like to take one of the dogs for a walk (The dogs go crazy whenever they see him, and the creatures just make his hackles rise and his tail puff in return). They treat him-

Well, _normal_.

They kind of all collectively and unknowingly took over Elizabeth’s role of mothering him the past couple of years.

“Well, Kurt Hummel!” came Michelle’s Southern accent from behind him as he stepped out of his car. The smile on his face faded when he turned around and noticed a big, shaggy mutt at the end of the leash around her wrist. Instantly, the dog was barking and pulling on the leash and leaping at him.

Kurt plastered himself to his car, the hiss that escaped him loudly vibrating in his chest as his ears fell back on his head.

“Oh- Sorry!” Michelle apologize, pulling back on the leash with her one hundred and two pounds of determination. “The other girls are right inside!” She called as she dragged the creature three times her size in through the back door.

An inhuman growl rumbled up his throat in his annoyance. He had his tail in his hands to flatten the furs that had puffed up as best he could. He hates it when it puffs to the diameter of a basketball. It doesn’t make him look big and scary like it’s supposed to- it makes him look like a dumb ball of fluff.

Grabbing everything he could for one trip, he made his way in.

He was greeted to a chorus of happy calls when he made his appearance.

“It’s been a while, Kurt, are you avoiding us?” Shelby joked as she walked past him to gather the rest of Kurt’s things.

“I’m not avoiding _you_ , I’m avoiding your mutts,” he quipped, letting himself into the back area and making his way over to the supply room.

Michelle stopped him in the hallway, now dog-less and cupping his face in her hands. “Don’t let the big ol’ doggy-woggies scare you, Kurtsie. Your tail will puff up well enough to frighten them into their place.” She tapped his cheek and smirked as he rolled his eyes.

“Maybe I _will_ start avoiding you,” he humored to himself loudly as he stocked litter, his cheeks starting to tint a soft pink.

“You wouldn’t dream of it!”

He finished his handful and made his way back into the hallway, passing Shelby on the way, who bumped his hip. “Go finish off the rest of Sheryl’s Snickerdoodles. She’s made them the past four days and I think I’m sweating cinnamon.”

Kurt slipped himself into the office-slash-reception area, sneaking up on Jackie from behind and wrapping his arms around her. She jumped slightly. “Hey, boy!” She rocked them, patting his arms soothingly. Inside his chest, something glowed. There’s just an air of true _acceptance_ about these women, and that nickname always sends a warm rush into his tummy. They gave him a false sense of hope about the world.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t let himself come over that often.

“Ah! You!” Croaked Sheryl, waving her cane like an extending arm. She was big, opinionated, and very loveable in a way that only cranky old women can be. She was the only person Kurt allowed to call him ‘Kitten’ regularly. “Eat my cookies and tell me they’re delicious. The girls have been complaining all day about them.”

“We wouldn’t be complaining about them if you hadn’t forced them down our throats the past four days,” Jackie noted as Kurt detached from her and helped himself to a piece.

“Shut up,” Sheryl commanded. She raised her arms up high and open at Kurt, “C’mere, Kitten,” she ordered for him to come, and Kurt leaned down a planted a kiss to her cheek. “How’ya been? Meet anyone cute lately?”

The question was standard; ever since Kurt had bashfully admitted that he was gay several months ago, Sheryl did her best to give him someone he could talk to. Kurt scoffed. “In Lima, Ohio? _Please_ tell me you’re joking.”

Jackie swatted at Sheryl’s arm. “Oh, stop that. Always with the crass subjects. You don’t think that if the boy found himself someone decent we’d be the first to know?”

“I told you to shut up,” Sheryl said with an angry frown. “Aren’t you supposed to be feeding those cats?”

“I’m taking a break,” Jackie informed as she pierced a straw into a juice pouch. “Brittany’s getting the cats now.”

As if on cue, a loud crash came from the cats’ room. Kurt’s eyes widened, and his eyebrows congealed together.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, that girl,” Sheryl shook her head disapprovingly.

“Brittany?” he asked with a frown, not knowing they had taken up another worker.

“She’s just new this week,” Jackie sighed, grabbing Kurt’s hand and dragging him back out into the hall. “We really needed the extra set of hands around here. I think she’s missing a few nuts and bolts, but her passion for the animals is really sweet.”

When she opened the door to the cats’ room, Kurt froze.

“Brittany, honey? Is everything okay?”

Brittany Pierce was standing in the middle of the room, overlooking the mess of cat food scattered across the floor with a very sad look on her face. “I made a mess.”

“Well, clean it up!” Jackie instructed. “Kurt doesn’t mind helping ya.” She shoved him into the room and shut the door behind him. Kurt instinctively plastered himself up against the door behind him.

Brittany’s blonde head popped up, and she smiled upon seeing him. “Kurt!”

It only made him more wary.

“I don’t know where the broom is.” She confessed, her face falling again.

 _This is the Cheerio who was hanging out with that boy_ , Kurt’s mind supplied him.

Kurt tiptoed his way over to the small closet and pulled out the pan and broom for her, keeping a very safe distance as he handed it over. His senses were up high. He’s known Brittany since they were both young, but didn’t really know too much about her besides for the fact that she isn’t _all-quite-there_. But she hung out with Santana Lopez and Quinn Fabray and obviously that new Cheerio boy, so therefore she posed as a threat. Plus, he’s pretty sure he’s caught her staring at his butt on more than one occasion. But Santana and Quinn weren’t here- and thankfully neither was the boy- and he was certain she would pose no _physical_ threat, so he forced his hackles down. “You broom, I’ll pan,” she said as she handed the broom back to him.

He started sweeping the mess for her, hoping they would remain in silence. No such luck.

“You know, I think you’re really pretty, Kurt. Your tail is so gorgeous and I’m totally jealous of it. I sat behind you in sixth grade and I used to like watching it when you worked on your math booklet. It would always twitch.” She looked up at him, her innocent eyes very serious as she said, “I hope to one day have ears like that. Santana said that I’m not allowed to pet yours. Are they soft? They look soft.”

A dark voice echoed in the back of his mind, making him shudder down to his toes. He pulled himself in tight, whispering, “ _Please don’t pet me_.”

She blinked at him, and then went back to her work. “I like being pet. Santana pets me all of the time and I really like that.” Kurt’s eyes popped into circles at this information. Brittany went on, completely oblivious. “Lord Tubbington likes when I pet under his chin. But I won’t do that anymore because I know he’s been selling drugs again. Do you like being pet under your chin?”

“Okay- Brit-” Kurt stopped her, unable to hold it in. “Are you being intentionally offensive here, or do you really not know what you’re saying?”

Her eyes went wide. “No, I don’t want to be offensive! I think you’re totally cool! You’re so lucky!”

“Lucky that I-?” he forced himself to stop talking, his stomach churning. The fact that someone affected him in this way tinting everything he saw red. “Why would you say that?” he asked bitterly as he swept the rest of the fallen cat food into Brittany’s pan.

Her eyes went wide, “Because I mean it, Kurt, you’re awesome! I have the rest of Lord Tubbington’s tuna that I don’t want to give to him ever since I found out he started dating his ex, and you can have that if you want-”

“ _Okay_ ,” Kurt snapped, throwing his broom aside the cage of a large tabby as he was now thoroughly ticked off. But for once, Kurt couldn’t find an insult appropriate to throw.

He knew that this girl sort of lived off in her own world. He understood that where she comes from, these are probably compliments in her mind. But the best she had done since she started talking was offend him. Treating him like a _pet_ , though…

He bit his tongue and left. He snuck out the back door as to not face any of the girls.

After the state of paranoia he’s been in today, he doesn’t need to deal with this.

_o-O-o_


	2. Chapter 2

_o-O-o_

For the next two weeks, Kurt’s anxiety level reached an all-time-high. Someone threw a brick through Burt’s window at his tire shop, and since then his father has had to work extra to cover the costs, so Kurt has hardly seen him. There is never any evidence, but Kurt always knows that he’s to blame when things like this happen. It’s because people don’t accept _him_ that Burt has to go through these ordeals. And that always gets him riled up. It’s one thing to pick on Kurt, but bringing it out on his father’s workplace?

His bullies at school have become relentless again. They go through their phases often; giving Kurt moderate attention, getting bored, and then realizing he exists again and cracking down insanely. Tail-pulling seems to be their torment-of-choice this time. The other day Azimo managed to pull out a large clump of furs right before lunch; which he then held onto and waited for Kurt to get his food before stopping by to sprinkle it all over Kurt’s tray.

Tuesday, it was really bad.

Gym class, the utter horror it is for every high school student, is always exceptionally intolerable for Kurt. Especially this year, when it seems the only class open for him to take was swarmed with every jock in the entire county. Football, hockey, baseball, basketball, swim team- it seems that every other male student in this class was bred to eat, breathe, sleep athletics. And which ones of Kurt’s meatheaded tormentors were in this class?

Every single fucking one of them.

And of course the gym teacher he had was also just a more aged version of every guy in the class. And, naturally, when he notices Kurt taking refuge in the corner of their floor-hockey arena he calls him out on it and makes him run extra laps at the end of class. (Kurt deals with it because there is no way he is putting himself in the middle of the bloody testosterone-fest-with-sticks to make himself blend in more.)

But it means that Kurt is late going into the locker rooms to change when the boys are still amped and roughhousing, instead of getting in and out early before they come out of the showers like he usually can.

Kurt trying to sneak in goes unnoticed until the last possible second; one of them just caught the whip of his tail as it slipped behind the row of lockers.

They surrounded him before he could get his lock undone. There was the usual pushing and shoving and name calling, but when Karofsky pulled his tail again, his hand _way_ too close to where it connects to Kurt’s body, Kurt accidentally hissed loud enough to echo against the concrete walls.

It was then that Azimo started taunting him. “How come you never _meow_ for us anymore?” he pried in a sickly sweet tone. “You hiss and you moan all of the time, but I want to hear you _meow_ again.”

They shoved him to the floor, trying to get him to crack by inflicting as much pain as they could. By this point, Kurt wouldn’t allow himself to make a remark; not even about how Azimo’s girlfriend was certainly _meowing_ for half of the men in this locker room nightly, for fear of something un-human escaping up his throat. Eventually, the boys won when a steel-toed boot collided with Kurt’s stomach, forcing a lowly mewl from Kurt’s lips.

Kurt lay on the floor for several moments as the boys cleared out, laughing and enjoying themselves all the while. His stomach ached with the feeling of a large bruise starting to blossom.

That was when he smelled it.

The scent that has been following him around for two weeks. The reason he has been on edge every single day.

_That boy._

Kurt has dealt with a city’s worth of bullies and bigots within his lifetime, but never has he ever feared one of them more than he has this boy.

He doesn’t even know why. It’s his scent. It’s his instincts telling him that _this boy will make you vulnerable, more so than anyone you have ever encountered after you were freed from that basement_. His scent makes him want to run away with his tails between his legs like a lame dog until he is gone from society as a whole.

Those big, golden, judgmental eyes are staring at him cowering on the floor. Kurt swallows, and his thoughts are no longer very human. He has to run. Footsteps are coming toward him, but Kurt is stuck on the ground. By the time he manages to stand, it’s too late. There’s a hand on his solder.

He hisses before sense comes to him. Loud and scarring, right in the boy’s face. He runs.

When Kurt came to, he was in the driver’s seat of his car parked in his own driveway.

He cried a lot down in his room for the rest of the day. He was alone, as Burt was working through his lunch and dinner, and he was emotional. It was getting almost to that time of year- his heat. He was always emotional for weeks as his frustrations built up inside of him before mid-spring. The beginning of March is incredibly early for his emotions to start to fray; he’s pretty sure his heat is going to be horrible this year.

He was in such a fit that he ordered pizza for the first time in months. Burt had heart and cholesterol problems, and Kurt’s been trying to make him healthy, nutrient rich foods to keep him in good shape, but Kurt just wasn’t in the mood to stand over a stove. His mood was so bad he almost didn’t get up the next morning.

But Kurt Hummel would not allow himself to miss a day of school because of early heat frustrations and idiotic bullies. Luckily, the bruise on his brow bone from hitting his head against the floor covered well with his concealer, and the other bruises easily hid with clothing, so he looked as put-together as ever.

The school day went by without a hitch. It was very eerie how none of his bullies paid much attention to him, but he took it with a silent grace. And he hadn’t smelled him all day, as last period tells him that the boy was absent. Kurt was in a very good mood.

Until he was walking out to his car and there was a different scent Kurt loathed.

 _Catnip_.

Oh, how Kurt hated it. Of all the cat related things people tormented him with, catnip was the substance that pissed him off the most. Because if he accidentally smells too much of it, Kurt has no rational control over his own body. It gets him high and makes him rub up against everything and meow and his tail flicks about and he loses all sense of himself _._ It’s been the reason behind the most embarrassing moments of his life.

“ _Psss_ ,” someone catcalled, but Kurt didn’t give himself time to turn around and look. He was speeding up his walk, forcing himself not to breathe and just _get to your car you need to get to your car_ -

Someone had tackled him and knocked the wind out of him. He gasped for air afterwards, but quickly stopped when he smelled Karofsky behind him and that _catnip_ held in Azimo’s hand right in front of his face. “Have to breathe sometime, Kitty,” he was saying as Karofsky had Kurt’s arms locked behind his head. Kurt knew that he had to. His heart rate had gone up, making his need for air only more necessary. Shakily, he took a breath.

 _No_.

Kurt’s foot collided intentionally into Karofsky’s crotch. Karofsky’s eyes crossed as he fell to the ground, the distraction giving Kurt the time he needed to flee.

One of the only things Kurt was grateful for about his DNA was having excellent endurance and speed. It really helped in the moments when the… cons of his DNA were getting him into trouble.

He wouldn’t have enough time to unlock his car and get in safely, so he bypassed it. He felt a number of people on his heels, and he knew it would end badly. So he kept running. The parking lot ended under his feet, turning into a small field. Before his human mind could argue, Kurt took one long bound at a tree and managed to hoist himself up. He continued climbing at a record speed, and he was at the top where the branches were feeble and thin before he realized what he had done.

_God, you are not wearing the pants for this._

“Ohh, Kitty got caught in the tree!” said Travis, looking small from up at Kurt’s height.

Kurt’s chest was heaving. What has he done? _His face must be so red right now._

“Come on, Kitty, we just wanted to play,” Richards mocked.

Beside him, Karofsky was fuming. “You’re going to get _hell_ for doing that, Pussy.” Kurt gripped the branches around him. How the hell was he going to get himself out of this? It will be night time before they all leave. _Maybe they’ll even take shifts guarding the bottom and it’ll be even longer-_

“Okay, Cavemen, clear out,” a harsh, female voice instructed. Kurt could see the red of a Cheerio uniform and his heart thumped harder.

“Oh, fuck off, Santana,” Azimo bit. “We’re just having a little fun.”

“Go buy yourself a Rockband then, lunkhead, I promise you it’s five times more interesting than scaring someone half your size up a tree,” Santana flourished with a hand on her hip. “Besides which, Auntie Snixx has a few words she would like to share with Cat Women in private, and if you don’t leave you’re giving me permission to squeeze all of your tiny balls in my fist at the same time. And Karofsky, I beg you take this to heart because I doubt your chances of future children are still in existence after that number Hummel played on you a few minutes ago. After me, I promise you there won’t even be a glimmer of hope on the matter.”

The boys were scattering, mumbling and cursing at Santana, who just watched them leave with a wide smirk on her lips. Once they were gone, her attention was on Kurt. “Get your ass down here, Anne Hathaway. We _need_ to have a talk.”

Now that his attackers were gone, Kurt’s pulse was diminishing a lot, but not enough to make him comfortable with this situation. This was Santana Lopez. If there was one person who did not approve of him, it was her. “And who says I owe you the honor?”

Santana scoffed, “Listen here, Lady Lips, you have been interfering with my life quite a lot as of late, and I would like to have a discussion now to put an end to it. But there is no way I am doing that with someone a quarter of a mile on top of me _stuck in a tree_.”

“I am pretty certain I have been avoiding you, and all of your other Cheerios, since the day I came to this town. I promise you, I have no intension of changing that fact any time soon.” Kurt gripped his branches tightly. This was about Brittany. What else could it be about?

“Did I, or did I not tell you to get your tail-clad-ass out of this tree before speaking to me?” Santana snapped. “Or do I have to call the fire department?”

Grumbling, Kurt started making his way down. It sure was a lot easier getting himself up it than down, but he managed leap himself to the ground carefully without a single tear to his new Marc Jacobs jacket.

“Yes, Satan?” Kurt said as he brushed off any dirt from his jeans.

“What the hell do you have against my boy Anderson.”

Kurt blinked twice. “Who?”

“ _Anderson_. Blaine Anderson. The only Cheerio with a dick. Don’t tell me that nose of yours can’t smell the raspberry hair gel from a mile away.” Kurt could feel his heart beat speed up again.

“I- I have no clue what you’re even talking about, Santana-” he tried, his instincts once again telling him that he should get out of here, but she beat him to it.

“Don’t give me that crap, Hummel,” she demanded, grabbing onto his wrist as if she knew he was thinking about fleeing. “The boy who you _hissed at_ in the locker room when he tried to help you wipe the blood off of your face.”

He ripped his hand out of her grasp, lashing out, “I did not _hiss_ -”

“Yes you _did_ , Hummel,” she lashed just as fiercely, making Kurt cower. “You share your DNA with a cat. You have two cat ears and one giant, fluffy tail sticking out of your ass, and when you get scared, you _hiss_.” The words struck at him like a whip striking him right in the chest. His throat went dry. “And you know what? _I fucking get it_. It _sucks_. You’re just trying to live your life and be who you are, but then you have assholes like Adams and Karofsky who act like it’s your fucking fault; like you’re some mutant who asked for a psychopath to create you in a test tube. Well, not all of us are like that, Kurt. I for one choose to not like you because you’ve always been such a whiny bitch about your situation.”

Kurt clenched his teeth.

“Brittany, though, she’s never said one thing bad about you. I kept her away from you because I _knew_ you’d take her the way you did. I _knew_ you’d hurt her like that.”

Urgently, Kurt forced himself to speak. “First off, Brittany was awful to me. And I didn’t even say _anything_ to her-”

“It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to know that Brittany is special. She doesn’t know that what she’s saying is wrong. And answer me this, Hummel, did you _explain_ to her why she was being rude?”

Kurt was quiet.

“Exactly. You bitch and moan about how people don’t accept you but you never _explain_ to them why they should!”

“It shouldn’t be something that I have to explain!”

“No, but some people need it.” Santana agreed, her voice still bitter. “ _You_ outcast _yourself_ before you give anyone a chance.”

“I don’t-” Kurt objected.

Santana laughed maliciously. “Oh, is that so? Then explain to me why you have been giving this generation’s Bob Ross the cold shoulder and the evil eye all week?”

“What are you even _talking_ about?! I _haven’t_ been doing _anything_ -”

Interjecting herself again, Santana crossed her arms back over her chest. “Two weeks ago my boy Blaine transferred to McKinley to be on the Cheerios and you practically had to pour acid on his face to make him stop smiling all of the damn time. Then he runs into you and you act like _he_ was the one who pulled your tail. You can talk all of your ‘acceptance’ bullshit, but until you portray it to others, you don’t deserve it.”

“This is _completely_ different, Santana. You wouldn’t even understand,” Kurt insisted, his voice trembling.

“Then _explain it_ to me so I can,” she pressed back.

“You wouldn’t underst-”

“Make me.” They paused for a moment, Santana’s eyes wide and ears open and Kurt’s mouth gaping. Finally, Santana continued. “If you’re not going to say it to me, then at least say it to Blaine. You’ve been blowing his concentration and making him really upset lately.”

There was a pang deep in Kurt’s chest. “I haven’t been doing anything to him,” he repeated one last time, feebly.

“You’ve clearly been doing something.”

“I _don’t even know him_.”

They were quiet once more, both failing to crack under the intensity of each other’s glare. They had reached a stalemate, until Santana broke it by grabbing his wrist. “Come with me.”

 _Shit_. Kurt grumbled, but he let her lead him all the way across the lot and back into the school. He’d rather get this done with as soon as possible and arguing any more at this point will only prolong his afternoon nap.  Santana dragged him to the outside of a door Kurt has never been in before. Quietly, she twisted the knob and peeked it open slightly, as if to not disturb whomever was inside it.

Kurt did not need the waft of smell to hit him to guess who it was.

A beautiful, sorrowful tune was playing on the piano, easing his stiffening frame only slightly. “God, he’s so dramatic,” Santana mumbled to herself.

She opened the door and yanked Kurt in unceremoniously; her slamming presence startling the pianist so that he hit a few sour notes. Blaine turned around, his jaw dropping and breath catching when he saw who was in the room.

“Good news, Bowties,” Santana was saying. Kurt was trying not to breathe. “I brought you a present. You two are going to have a nice lovely chat.” She pushed Kurt forward, who, frightened, let out a loud hiss at her. She cooed, making his face go even _more_ red, before making her way back over to the door. “I’ll be guarding the door so don’t even think about running back up another tree.”

And then she was gone.

Blaine still sat at the piano, clad in his polyester uniform. The air was thick and awkward, and Kurt was mastering his ability to hold his breath so as to not breathe it in. He was rooted in his spot, afraid of both fleeing and moving closer. The rustling of the sheet music Blaine was fumbling with nervously was virtually nails to a chalkboard in Kurt’s ears.

So when Blaine spoke out and shattered it, Kurt visibly startled. “I am really, really sorry about whatever I did to make you hate me.” Kurt does not dare speak in return. He kept his eyes on the floor and pointedly ignored the honey ones burning into his skin. “A-And I promise that I won’t ever do it again, so you don’t have to… look at me the way you always do anymore. Or, you know, make a show of… _not_ looking at me.”

Biting his tongue, Kurt gave Blaine a refined nod.

The silence seemed to be getting louder somehow; as if Kurt could actually hear his own blood coursing through his body.

“Ca- Can you at least tell me?” Kurt’s eyes flashed up to Blaine in shock. He averted them quickly, but not quick enough to keep him from noticing that Blaine had turned on his piano bench and was sitting sickeningly straight; knees and ankles together, hands in his lap and back completely perpendicular to the floor. It unnerved Kurt. Another waft of smell hit his nostril. “W-What I did wrong, I mean. So I don’t- bother you again.”

The hairs on Kurt’s tail were starting to prickle and stick up. He swallowed thickly and chose his tone carefully to display no emotion.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did-?” Blaine choked on his words. Kurt could visualize him blinking in astonishment. “Then why-? I mean-” he coughed, but Kurt cut him off.

“It’s a cat thing.”

“Oh,” Silence again. And then footsteps. Kurt refused to tear his eyes away from the tiled floor; refused to breathe, because he knew that if he did- “Can you, um-” Blaine was standing five feet away, and Kurt’s eyes now focused on the white sneakers. “I don’t mean to be rude at all, and please decline if you don’t feel comfortable, but can you explain at all? What it is that’s bothering you?”

Kurt’s lungs were aching for a breath of air. It demanded itself to be taken, and so Kurt took it. It was clean and crisp and dangerous, and Kurt’s eyes flashed up to Blaine’s at the sudden action only to have it punched out of him. He never had the chance to really look at Blaine, this boy whom was deemed such a threat, but now that he has he wish he hadn’t. Kurt shook his head.

Blaine nodded. “That’s okay. I’m sorry for intruding.” But he looked crestfallen. He made to turn-

“Wait-,” Kurt stopped him, impulsively needing to clarify himself. “It’s just… my instincts,” he finished lamely, looking away again. _Way to make yourself out to not be an ass_.

Blaine blinked twice, then, “You’re afraid of me.”

Kurt didn’t answer.

“Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

Eyes wide, Kurt blanched.

“I- No, I mean-” Blaine sighed in frustration. “I mean, it’s like- my aunt had this cat who used to be really afraid of me- _oh my god, no_ -” he caught himself. “That was really insensitive- I shouldn’t have- the point of the story is not supposed to be that it was a _cat_ \- it could have been anything, like a dog or a - like a… like a horse or something…” Blaine sighed again, running a hand over his face and starting over. “I am so sorry. I really don’t mean to be as bad at this as I am. The point was that he didn’t like me at first, either. He had to get to know me first.” He swallowed nervously, but there was something intense about the way he stared at Kurt after. “I thought that maybe… you should too. Get to know me, I mean, instead of going off of what your instincts are telling you.”

Kurt wouldn’t have anything to say to that if he had a thousand years of time to ponder it.

“I- I really suck at this, don’t I?” Blaine’s voice wavered significantly. “I shouldn’t be telling you what to do with your instincts when I have no idea what they’re like. You do what you have to do, but if you-” He plucked a pen from his sheet music, and then reached out and just took Kurt’s hand and started writing on it. Kurt wanted to rip it away; he wanted to hiss and swat and retreat but instead all he could do was _swallow_ because for some reason his mouth seemed to forget how to work its own _spit glands_. After an eternity, Blaine dropped his hand and started walking backwards. “Um- I’m gunna go now. Before I make more of an idiot of myself.”

And then Blaine left.

Kurt must have stood there for a full five minutes before his brain kicked in and allowed him to follow Blaine’s path out of the room.

When he got there, Santana was still outside waiting for him. Kurt wanted to say so much to her, something like- well he didn’t know what, but there was something that he ought to be saying to her. Scolding her or something. But his throat was still congealed.

“I’ve seriously seen that boy swat at a wasp and then _apologize_ to it,” was all she said before she, too, was gone.

Kurt had enough. He ran to his car, the eight digits on his hand burning like white-hot metal to his skin.

_o-O-o_

 _Put it in your phone_.

Kurt stood in his bathroom, staring down at the red ink on his skin.

 _No, just wash it off. You don’t owe him anything_.

 _Seriously just fucking_ do _something at least; this ink is not good for your skin and it has sat there long enough already._

All this emotional turmoil over a stupid fucking phone number. Over a stupid fucking boy that makes his skin crawl. A stupid fucking boy _who insensitively tried to compare you to a cat-_

_No, he apologized for that even though the story wasn’t about what animal it was-_

_Yeah, it was a dumb claim on instincts-_

_That he recognized was wrong to diminish and apologized again for it-_

His Cat and his Human were fighting again. This was a common occurrence, though Kurt doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so conflicted. Blaine was…

Well, he can’t say that Blaine wasn’t what he expected, because he never really expected him to be anything. His Cat’s fear refused to let Kurt think about the boy, thus resulting in no pre-expectations for Blaine to live up to. But now, the boy was… something? He was a real, live human being who-

_Who you can smell the trouble he is as it rolls off of his body._

_But what if your instincts are wrong?_

_Your instincts have never been wrong before in your life and you know it._

God, he wished they would both just shut up already. He feels so defeated and he really need to just go lay up in his sunroom on his couch and take a nap without those two bickering at each other all evening long before the sun drops. He had to wash this off of his hand.

Fed up, Kurt slammed the bathroom door open and marched into his bedroom. There was a stack of Post-Its on his desk and before he could allow himself to argue either for or against it, he copied down the digits, ripped off the Post-It and stuck it to his blank wall. The bright yellow ricocheted off the dull slate blue.

Not allowing himself to think anymore, he scrubbed the ink off his hand and then went up into his sunroom to force his mind to fall asleep.

_o-O-o_


	3. Chapter 3

_o-O-o_

A week later, Kurt hadn’t made any progress with the phone number. The sticky note flashed out at him relentlessly every moment he was down in his room; it was bad enough that he started to avoid the room in general and opted to hang out in his sunroom instead. That was fine, but Burt was starting to get suspicious when he stayed in there well beyond the sun’s hours.

The worst part about it, though, was that the vibrant yellow was visible against his wall even in the dead of night. It was kicking into his sleep time, and that’s when things got serious.

But no matter how he glared at the note, he refused to take it off of his wall. He’d rather lose hours of sleep every night than deal with it.

“Hey, kiddo, come on. Wake up,” Burt’s gruff voice urged him awake one morning. Kurt felt like he was drowning under the urge to stay sleeping. “You’re already fifteen minutes late for your routine. You slept passed your alarm again.”

Kurt stretched himself out, grumbling to himself as he burrowed himself further under his blankets.

“You’ve got school,” Burt was saying, but a finger was scratching behind Kurt’s ear in that way that he absolutely loved, so Kurt only leaned into the touch and nuzzled his face into the pillow. Long ago, the only person allowed to touch Kurt’s ears was Elizabeth when he was tucked into her side right before bed. His ears and tail were a basket case of emotion and she was the only one he trusted with them; the way her long nails and dexterous fingers scratched and rubbed at them and _that spot_ lulled him to sleep on more accounts than just a few. Since her death, he has extended his trust for her into her husband. He might not be as good at it as she was, but they were still _ear scratches_ and they still felt _amazing_. Kurt could feel his chest rumbling in appreciation, but he was too tired to care about it.

The fingers had stopped, and Kurt was moments away from slipping back into sleep when, “What’s that?”

Eyes shooting open, Kurt found that he wasn’t tired anymore. He sat up too quickly and felt the blood draining from his face as his father peeled the sticky note off the wall. “Is this a phone number?”

“It’s nothing,” Kurt said as he forced himself out of the bed. He could feel the hairs on his head and his tail sticking up in wayward directions, but for once he didn’t care. He snatched the note out of his father’s hand.

“Whose number is it?” Burt pressed, his eyebrows drawn tight.

“No one’s,” Kurt lied. An eyebrow flew high on his father’s forehead. “It’s- just some kid’s. It’s nothing.”

He knew that his face was red, but thankfully Burt said nothing. Instead, he shrugged, “Don’t leave the house without any breakfast.”

_o-O-o_

As it turns out, that was just the start of a horrendous day.

Those fifteen minutes of extra sleep made him have to rush doing his hair so that he could still get to the coffee shop, and he hadn’t applied enough product in it to keep that _one_ lock of hair from sticking out and it’s been bothering him all day and setting off his instincts to _lick_ it down. His rush was all for naught, as he had taken all of two steps into the coffee shop before he had to turn around and leave.

Of all the places for Blaine’s scent to be, Kurt’s coffee shop should be forbidden.

Kurt’s harassers were still in their relentless stage. It was lasting much longer than he had hoped it would, and Kurt was just _tired_ of it. He was about to crack, and he _couldn’t_ crack. Because Kurt cracking meant that his Cat took over, and that was never a good thing. On top of that, Kurt was noticing his very early signs of heat was indeed starting to take effect. This made the cafeteria lunch virtually inedible because his nose was more sensitive than usual and _god, what is in that beef gravy?_

He settled on a salad, but all of the scents were diminishing his appetite even though he was _hungry_. He was poking at the soggy leaves for ten minutes when his tail was yanked.

“Hey, Kitten, how are you?” Azimo’s voice rang on Kurt’s right as he sat down on top of the table next to him. Kurt sighed to himself, trying to keep himself together.

Dave Karofsky’s hand was in his hair and scratching at his ears for all of a tenth of a second before Kurt swatted at it. “Ooh, Kitty’s got claws today.”

“Don’t you two have any dog fights to be betting on,” Kurt spat, running his hands through his hair to fix the mess.

“We’d rather be feeding the Kittens, today,” Karofsky chortled, and the telltale sound of the top of a can being peeled off, and then-

And then the can of cat food was dumped onto Kurt’s lunch.

Kurt was sick of it. He was sick of these oversized Neanderthals making his life utter hell every week. He was sick of the cold shoulders from every new person he meets. He was sick of the cat supplies on his doorstep five times a week. He was sick of nobody caring. He was sick of Santana Lopez’s dirty eye on him every waking moment. He was sick of the urges to lick the wayward clump of hair back into place. And he was incredibly sick of David Karofsky’s ability to make him cringe with just a single touch of his wide, forceful hand.

The mush was in and out of his fist before he even registered it; the loud, squishy _splat!_ of it hitting Karofsky square in the back of the head, almost echoing in the suddenly quiet cafeteria.

Kurt’s heart pounded in his ears for one terrifying moment as every eye in the room was on him, but he didn’t let himself falter. He kept himself tall and his eyes challenging as Karofsky’s jaw gaped comically; his hand coming up to feel the mess at the back of his head. Kurt watched the dumb expression on his face change into rage, but he didn’t let that get to him. Cracking had never felt so good.

“ _Kurt Hummel_!” Came an authority figure’s voice- the Spanish teacher. “Principal’s office! Now!”

Kurt turned to face him- Mr. Schuester- but he didn’t lose any of his bravado. He was angry. He was finished being treated as bottom-class. He reveled in the fact that Mr. Schuester had cowered away from his look for a moment. Keeping his height and his pride up tall, he marched out of the room.

He felt the teacher on his tail, but he made no show of not following his orders until he was outside of the boys’ bathroom.

“Kurt, Principal’s office!” Mr. Schuester reminded him sternly, but Kurt flashed him that look again and once more Mr. Schuester winced in a way that brought Kurt a rush of joy. Okay, so maybe he was on a bit of a power trip, but so help him because it felt _good_. He slipped inside the bathroom, washed his hands clean of the cat food, and all but strutted out.

The rest of the walk to the office was quiet. He was still pissed, and he thinks that if anyone tried to touch him he would gouge their eyes out, but he was also proud of himself for his stunt. _And he managed to do all of this without his tail fluffing up!_ In the back of his mind, he knew that this would only make his week of endless harassments worse, but damn it if he wasn’t going to allow himself have his moment of victory.

Principal Figgins’s office was new to Kurt, but he sat down into the chair on the opposite side of the desk as if he owned it. He couldn’t help the smirk on his face as Mr. Schuester began explaining the story to the Principal.

“Kurt Hummel,” Principal Figgins began in his thick accent. “The throwing of food is a serious offense in this school. We cannot let this go unpunished.”

A quick huff of a laugh forced itself out of Kurt’s mouth. “ _That’s_ what you make un-punishable in this school?”

“Excuse me?”

“Please explain to me why slushies are still permitted to be sold, then.”

The Principal deadpanned him. “You will attend detention after school for the rest of the week-”

“I can’t.”

“You should have thought of that before you made a menace in my cafeteria.”

“Technically, it is the Dean’s cafeteria,” Kurt pointed out, sitting forward in his seat. “And I mean that I literally _can’t_ attend detention outside of school hours. I have to sleep for two-to-four hours after school otherwise I won’t be able to function.”

Principal Figgins leaning forward just as well, “You _will_ attend your detentions or you risk expulsion. Sleep is no excuse to miss out on them.”

Kurt’s rage pulsed. “Putting me in detention for a week will make me unable to focus in class! It’s different for me.”

“Missing a few hours of extra sleep will not deter you from learning in class-”

“Yeah, for people with 100% _homo sapien_ DNA.”

That shut him up; Kurt could feel the air thicken in response. He feels almost dirty for having to bring that up, but his rash tongue had spoken of its own accord. Principal Figgins looked at him sternly, the tendons in his jaw tensing tightly. Kurt refused to fall inferior to it.

“Regardless,” he continued, his voice wavering in an odd way, “there is nothing I can do. You will attend detention after school for the rest of the week.”

 _Nothing he can do,_ Kurt thought bitterly, but he didn’t say out loud. _You’re the one who made up the damn punishment._ He did, however, say out loud, “So that’s it? Do you have any plan of action for punishing Karofsky?” His accusation was met with blank stares from both faculty members. Kurt’s blood pressure shot. “Don’t you _dare_ sit here and pretend like you don’t know why I did it.”

“Kurt-” Mr. Schuester began. “We have no evidence of Dave Karofsky doing anything-”

_“Are you fucking kidding me-”_

_“Language!”_

Kurt was too enraged to care, “How the hell did you think the cat food got onto my plate?!” He pointed out smartly. He was about to continue, but the looks he got made him stutter. Both of them were ducking their heads and pursing their lips. The breath in Kurt’s lungs punched out of him.

God, that _hurt_. These were two _adults_. These were two of the faculty members of his school who were supposed to protect him and guide him and not-

Tears began to burn behind his eyes and his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Damn them. Damn them all. Kurt doesn’t need them. He’ll fight his own battles. He picked himself up out of the chair, held his nose high and refused to let his eyes get any wetter than they already were. “Fine,” he clenched his jaw and marched to the exit. Impulsively he spun around, “But if you don’t do something about the bullying in this school soon, you can be damn sure a court hearing will be in your future. You want your evidence? Check any footage of the security cameras by my locker in between periods.”

He slammed the door as he walked out.

_o-O-o_

Kurt’s day was not over. He temped just skipping the rest of it and going home, but he didn’t want to get in even more trouble by skipping his detention. So he stuck it out, taking many bathroom breaks to recuperate. Also to try and fix that _damn_ lock of hair which was being _relentless_ today.

Ironically, however, the last class of the day was actually almost a safe haven. The Cheerios must have had an impromptu practice, which meant the Calculus class was thankfully missing two of their uniform clad members. His nose was grateful.

As if to make up for this beam of light in the darkness of this day, detention was the absolute worst thing Kurt could possibly imagine.

Not only was Will Schuester somehow pinned as the babysitter for the two hours, but his inmates could not have been any more of a bad omen for how the rest of his day would play out. Kurt would rather have his entire gym class locked in this room with him for a week than spend two hours with the indisputable, obnoxious 110 pounds of pure headache that was _Rachel Berry._

His hatred of this girl started back in his first year of public school. She was loud. _Too_ loud. No. She was too loud for normal, human ears. For Kurt, every time the girl spoke it vibrated in his head and flicked on his migraine switch. It wasn’t so much that she would always project herself; it was just her _voice_. And she was always talking. And _singing_. The woman lived every moment as if she was on a Broadway stage and she never let anyone forget it.

 _What did she do to land herself in detention on the one and only day Kurt has ever been in it before in his life?_ He tried to sneak himself into the back row of the room.

“Up front, Kurt,” Mr. Schuester commanded, patting the seat right dead center and next to that _voice._

He dragged himself up there, his teeth digging so hard into his tongue he was starting to taste blood. He sat down and pulled out his copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep, but he knew that he couldn’t do that here without getting himself skinned alive, regardless of how doubtful he was that he’d actually be able to shut his eyes for two seconds with _her_ next to him.

“You’re late, Mercedes,” Mr. Schuester was saying as the third and last student, Mercedes Jones. Kurt has long since labeled Mercedes as decent. She wasn’t a threat, but she wasn’t much of an ally either. She was nice enough and opinionated in a way that made Kurt respect her. One of his better peers.

But he still didn’t appreciate her sitting in the seat next to him opposite Berry. There is an entire room of space; why are they all locked up at the front?

“Sorry, Mr. Schue, I’ve never been in this room before in my _life_ , and honestly it took a while to remember where it was,” she sighed, leaning back in her seat.

Mr. Schuester flashed his eyes at her and droned, “Mercedes, I’m not ‘Mr. Schue’ here; you’re in detention.”

“Mr. Schue-” _Oh god, it’s started,_ Kurt groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as Rachel Berry spoke, “As rightfully as I believe both Mercedes and I deserve to be in here, it’s cutting into my rehearsal time. I realize that this hour is not normally Glee club for either of you, but I, on the other hand, need to keep myself well in tune at all times.”

“No singing, Rachel,” Mr. Schuester told her.

Kurt leaned his head back, and quietly mouthed a, “ _Thank god_.”

Mr. Schuester ignored him. “This is detention, and both of you will serve your time quietly.”

“I think you mean ‘all three of us’,” Rachel pointed out, sending Kurt a smile that Kurt wished he could physically rip off of her face. He glared at her dangerously, and the thrill of success rushed through him as he watched it falter. She frowned, and then turned back to Mr. Schuester. “Have you come up with a way to get more kids to join Glee Club in time for Regionals, yet? Because I was thinking-”

“Did you miss the part where he said ‘quietly’?!” Kurt snapped, his hand slamming onto the desk with a little more force than he intended.

She drew back from his tone and looked to her teacher for support. He shrugged at her, “He’s got a point.”

“Well,” she mumbled, sounding put out and crossing her arms over her chest. Kurt huffed out his exasperation and picked his book back up. Just as he found his page, he noticed that Rachel was staring at him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, but he pretended not to notice for as long as he could. His patience was so thin, however, that it only lasted a couple of seconds.

“What?!” Kurt spat bitterly.

“You sing,” she stated bluntly, making Kurt sputter.

The only person who knew of his love of song was his father, after many years of overhearing Kurt’s nightly shower concerts. “You-? _How in the hell_ -?!”

“You have the throat and jaw for it,” she spun in her chair so that she was facing him. “And your speaking voice is too flawless. Countertenor, right?”

He blinked at her. “ _That’s_ really creepy.”

“Join Glee club.”

“I-” Kurt stuttered, completely taken aback. “ _Fuck_ no.”

“Oh come _on_ , Kurt!” Her hands were on his desk, and Kurt had the strong urge to hiss at her. “If we don’t get three more members by the time Regionals comes around we’ll have to forfeit! It’s a miracle as it is that we have as many people as we do right now! All you have to do is doo-wop behind me during my solo-”

“Watch it, girl,” Mercedes interjected, “or I will diva-slap you a second time. That solo belongs to me-”

“Girls!” Mr. Schuester yelled loudly, making Kurt’s head throb painfully and his hatred for the teacher spike to a high. “You will both audition _fairly_ without letting anything get physical again.”

It got quiet again for a moment, and then it was Mr. Schuester who broke it, “So, Kurt, what do you say?”

 _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me._ Kurt stared at him incredulously. Have these people lost their heads? “Are you serious?! What makes you think I’d want to stand on a stage in front of a large audience with blinding lights illuminating all that I am!?”

“Oh, trust me you’ll _love_ it!” Rachel Berry was saying, and Kurt just stared at her; jaw dropped. “The rush is exhilarating-!”

“Shut _up_ , Berry,” Mercedes scolded wisely, making Kurt’s admiration for her intensify.

“It’s a shame, Kurt,” Mr. Schuester continued. “We’d all really love to have you in our group.”

Repressing the urge to vomit, Kurt’s tail flicked angrily. “The guilt trip won’t work, Schuester. Do you fail to remember why I can’t do after school activities?”

“Glee club is in-class rehearsal. Every second period-”

“So I’m just supposed to rearrange my entire schedule in the middle of the semester to accommodate for a club that I don’t wish to be in.”

Much to Kurt’s annoyance, Rachel continued speaking, “Kurt, I really think you’ll like it there! We accept everybody and treat each other all as equals- it wouldn’t matter if you had a _tentacle_ sprouting out of your _nose_ -”

“I cannot believe you just said that to me.”

“No, Kurt, she’s serious,” Mr. Schuester continued to explain for her, and his frustration with him just kept peaking and peaking higher with every word. “It would really help you fit in and give you friends who will stand up for you. Glee club is a sanctuary for the outcast.”

His rage consumed him to the point where he couldn’t even form a word. How dare these two sit here and say this to his face-

A hand rested on his arm, making him jump. Mercedes had started talking, “I think _both_ of you need to take your feet out of each others’ mouths before your breath starts to stink. If he doesn’t want to join, he doesn’t have to join.” She patted his arm, confusing him into a state of silence. “Despite how much I think we need his fashion expertise on our side. Berry shouldn’t be allowed near the rhinestone gun.”

Kurt startled. Was that-? Kurt stared at her in utter disbelief. That- people don’t- do that. People passive aggressively make backhanded comments about him. They don’t- he’s never-… the only other people to have ever complimented Kurt on his style were his parents and the girls at the shelter. And Kurt… honestly, his instincts were telling him not to trust her because of it. At all.

He remained silent for the rest of the two hours, trying his hardest to ignore how badly Mr. Schuester was being at keeping this detention period _quiet_ , and being hyperaware of the girl sitting to his right.

_o-O-o_

At long last, five o’clock rolled around and Kurt couldn’t be any more thankful. He felt like he was going to drop unconscious at any given moment; there was absolutely no way he’d be able to do this all week without it drastically showing in his grades. He was grateful that his house was only a short five minute drive away from the school because he needed to _pass out._

But as he walked out of the classroom, he noticed Rachel and Mercedes were going to be traveling the same path he needed to go out into the student parking lot. A detour was necessary to avoid them, even though it would add a few extra minutes between him and his sunroom. He snuck out of the door by the cafeteria on the back side of the building.

And regretted it.

The entirety of the football team was making their way out of the locker rooms from practice. Kurt was right about to turn around and head back into the building when Karofsky spotted him.

“Hey!” His shout echoed against the brick wall of the school. Kurt spun on his heel and made a dash for the door, but he was a split second too late. Someone had grabbed him by the scruff of his scarf, successfully close-lining him before throwing him to the ground with a loud _thwap_. A violent pain rang all the way down his spine from how hard he hit his head against the pavement.

“Look at the little Pussy, cowering now that he’s all alone,” Karofsky taunted, looming over him ominously. He grabbed a fistful of Kurt’s jacket and hoisted him up into the air as if they were in a cartoon. Hot breath breathed over Kurt’s face, and Kurt’s ears fell flat on his head. “He hasn’t got a cafeteria full of witnesses to protect him now.”

“Says the bully who needs an entire football team behind him to feel safe.”

A fist collided into Kurt’s lower belly, and he doubled over from the impact. Karofsky tugged on his jacket again, forcing him to look back up. Kurt’s hatred bubbled. “Did you think you’d get away with pulling that stunt without paying for it?”

Kurt scoffed, his anger waking him up and blinding him so that he was not afraid. “You realize how lame that threat is being that I _just_ left detention.”

Karofsky threw him back into the hold of someone else, who restrained his arms behind his back. Kurt’s jaw clenched. He knew what was coming next. He held himself up throughout it all; letting the punches collide into his body and face and not fighting it. Honestly, he expected it to go on much longer than it did, but soon enough he had a sore, bloody face and Karofsky was instructing his captor to let him go. Kurt stumbled into his temporary freedom for only a second before a hand was around his tail and-

And Kurt was going to be sick. The hand around his tail was right at the base where it met Kurt’s body, and it was pulling him back and gripping so hard-

The worst part about it was that Karofsky didn’t know. He didn’t _know_ what he was touching; he didn’t know about the knot at the base of Kurt’s tail. He didn’t understand that the spot right where his hand was could, if rubbed right, bring Kurt to orgasm without a single touch anywhere else on his body. He could feel the burning bile threaten to rise up his throat.

Karofsky’s other hand was gripping the back of his neck, as if holding onto the scruff that Kurt didn’t have. It was just his skin, and it was excruciatingly painful and made him feel like he was going to suffocate. Helpless, Kurt was unable to stifle his mewl. His hands splayed across the body behind him, wishing he was strong enough to push him away.

“Meowing, are we?” Karofsky taunted into Kurt’s ear. “I suspect we’ll have more of that in a second, won’t we, Azimo?”

Azimo was taking out the bag of catnip, but Kurt paid him no mind. “Karofsky,” he pleaded, unable to stop himself, “Karofsky, you have to let go of my tail-”

The hold on his tail only gripped tighter and yanked, and Kurt cried out. He could feel the bile boiling; it hurt, but it also _didn’t_ hurt, and it brought back a flash of unwanted memory and _god_ , Kurt was going to throw up- “I don’t think you’re in any position to be telling me what to do, Pussy Cat.”

The catnip was inches away from his face, but Kurt didn’t have the time to hold his breath. “No- no you don’t understand-”

Kurt’s eyes bulged wide as a thumb pressed itself into the knot and rubbed over it.

Kurt’s hand went over his mouth, but it was already too late. Karofsky dropped him in time to get sick all over the parking lot ground. The entire football team preened behind him; wrinkling their noses and joking, ‘ _He’s coughing up a hairball’_. Kurt has never been more humiliated in his life. He hasn’t felt this _disgusting_ since- His head was spinning with embarrassment and shame, and those whiffs of catnip did nothing to help keep the memories out. He should have run away when he had the chance. He should have- he should have-

“Tell you what, Pussy Cat,” Karofsky was saying. “Let’s have a little fun with this, why don’t we? We’ll give you to the count of ten to book it. Nothing like a little Kitty-Chase to amuse us.”

Kurt scrambled on the ground to get up. If they were going to let him run-

Kurt was a very fast runner. He was absolutely certain he’d be able to outrun all of these boys if he let himself slip into his Cat. Slipping into it was easy, especially with the help of the drugs. The pavement smacked beneath his feet before Karofsky could rethink his decision.

Unfortunately, the only direction open for him to run was in the opposite direction of his home. He could try to circle a few blocks and make his way around, or maybe just come back to the school so he can get into his Navigator. He was glad he had put all his books in his car before detention; they weren’t weighing him down. He’d have to find another copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, however.

It was hardly three seconds later that Kurt heard the telltale signs of the team rushing after him. They all trudged behind him thunderously, sounding ridiculously like a stampede of bulls past the rushing in Kurt’s ears. Kurt let his feet carry him in any direction they could take him.

They weren’t far behind him, but Kurt was more agile. He made last second sharp turns down streets that gave him extra seconds to take comfort in. He realized how absurd it must look to the people driving by in their cars: some dozen football players chasing a cat-boy through the rich neighborhoods near the high school. _But fuck if anyone would actually try to help him_ , he thought through his frustration.

Several winded minutes later, he felt some of the boys give up behind him. This was good, because Kurt never really had a reason to go though this part of town before, and frankly he was unsure of which way to turn to lead him back to the school. Instincts were the only thing that could help him, and they told him that he was still traveling in the complete opposite direction of his home.

He had given himself just enough layaway to make his way around a block and hopefully back to the school before he thought better of it. The boys who had given up would probably be waiting by his car for him, so it would be pointless to walk right back into the nest. All he could really do now was try to outrun them. He had no doubt in his mind he’d be able to beat them.

His heart was beating fast; he hoped Karofsky regretted letting him run away. _You have half the fucking football team on my heels. I don’t see how you don’t find it embarrassing that you need twenty-plus assholes behind you to do this._

He could feel himself gaining more and more distance as more and more boys started to give up. _He was going to win; he was going to get away-_

Right as he thought this, he turned a corner and ran straight into a large, red, human brick wall.

He was thrown back onto a not-soft-enough patch of grass from the intensity of the impact. They had cut him off around a block and ambushed him. Before he could get back up, Jonathan Frankford was straddling him and holding him down.

“Shit, you’re a fast one,” he commented, amused. Kurt squirmed under him, managing to put up a really good fight until more bodies were holding him down.

“Watch out- let me get him,” came the wheezing voice of Dave Karofsky, who pushed his way through to hold the catnip out under Kurt’s nose.

There was nothing Kurt could do. He needed to _breathe_ \- he couldn’t hold it in. He squirmed the best he could, but he was trapped; pinned down against the grass with nothing to do but inhale this- this _drug_. God, Kurt hated it. He _hated_ this substance. He hated what it did to him.

Slowly, Kurt was slipping away.  Everything was getting fuzzy and he was struck with the dire need to roll around, to rub his scent on everything he could claim. He felt the rumbling in his chest grow loudly as he purred despite how much he wished it would stop. His back twisted and arched itself off of the ground as he tried to roll himself on the grass against his restrictions. He butted his head into a knee, but it pulled itself away from him.

_“God, he’s suck a freak.”_

_“Better watch out, he really likes your knee there, Michaels.”_

_“Do you think he’ll start humping the ground-?”_

Kurt heard it, but the words could hardly register. His body was mistakenly blissful and unaware of the sneers and hurtful words. The worst part about the catnip was that it tore Kurt’s human away from him completely.

He didn’t know what happened, but suddenly all his restraints were gone. His eyes opened to the last rays of a setting sun as the thumping of many footsteps started fading away. Everything was cloudy. He didn’t know what was going on, so he rubbed his ears against the plush grass and marveled at the feeling.

_“Kurt?!”_

_That scent. It was that scent._ It filled his lungs, somehow lighting every nerve in his body on fire with something so strong and urgent it was almost foreign. _It’s that scent. It’s that boy. It’s_ -

Kurt blinked up at Blaine, who was looking down at him with worry. _God, that smell, he smells so-_

Blaine cradled Kurt in his arms and picked him up off the ground, with surprising strength for such a tiny body, and began carrying him inside the house. Everything had clouded over again at the overwhelming amount of _scent_ that came with being this close- this close to-

Blaine’s pulse point was beating right there on his neck, and Kurt could smell everything that was coming off of it. He didn’t know what he was doing; all he knew was that scent scent _scent_ and Kurt was rubbing his face up against it.

 _God, it feels so good_ , was all Kurt could think coherently about. He placed his nose right over the pulse point and inhaled deeply. He didn’t notice the way Blaine had nearly dropped him at all; he just pressed his face further into it and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed against it. The throat vibrated several times, but Kurt was in no state to process what was being said.

Kurt’s tongue lapped over the spot roughly several times and _boy, was that amazing_ so he did it again and clamped his teeth down over it-

Blaine had dropped him this time, but only gently onto some sort of a bed. The sudden distance enraged Kurt; he couldn’t bear it. His claws latched into Blaine’s shirt and pulled him down on top of him, both of his legs wrapping around Blaine’s to keep him there. Kurt was attacking the spot again- nipping and sucking and lapping at it relentlessly. Blaine was making noises again, but they were breathy and raspy and only made Kurt want to continue what he was doing more.

“Fu- _Kurt-!”_ But it was Blaine’s hands grasping his shoulders that finally snapped Kurt out of it.

He was off the bed and scrambling around on the floor in a fraction of a second.

“Fuck- shit- _fuck_ -” All of the memories of the past hour came rushing back to him at once. He pressed himself up against a wall with his knees to his chin. His heart rate sped up to an almost dangerous speed, he could feel it in his throat, it was clogging his airways, it had to be because he couldn’t _breathe_.

Blaine was on his knees in front of him. “Shh, Kurt, it’s okay, you’re okay-”

“No, I am _not_ okay!” Kurt snapped at him. There were tears streaming down his face, but Kurt has no idea when they had gotten there. “I’m _not_ okay- I’m-”

“I know, I know you’re not, but you’re safe, Kurt, you’re safe,” Blaine looked at him with those large, honey eyes, his hands hovering over his knees but not daring to actually touch. Trying to calm down, Kurt inhaled deeply.

Blaine’s scent went straight to his cock.

“Fuck-” Kurt cursed as he covered his nose almost violently with his hand. “ _Your scent- you smell_ -”

Eyes widening, Blaine flailed for a moment, reaching up onto the dresser next to Kurt. “Here-” he shoved a short, stout candle into Kurt’s nose. It smelled like Sugar Cookies in a way that made Kurt feel like crying again.

Kurt closed his eyes and let himself hyperventilate into the candle until he calmed down. He could still smell Blaine- god, he didn’t think he would ever _not_ be able to smell him again- but it wasn’t as strong behind the immediate sugary scent.

“You-” Blaine started, reaching his hand out to Kurt’s face, but wisely thinking better of it. “You’re bleeding. Hold on.” Sure enough, when Kurt licked over his bottom lip there was the coppery taste of blood and a sharp pain indicating a split lip. Blaine returned with a damp wash cloth. Tentatively, Blaine knelt down and took Kurt’s chin. He froze under the touch that began softly wiping under his lip. He tried not to breathe as Blaine brushed over his brow, where there was apparently another scrape. Kurt swallowed thickly when Blaine met his eyes.

Blaine ducked his head, breaking the moment. “Your knee.”

There was a rip in Kurt’s jeans that revealed a shiny red brush burn that must have been from when he-

_Oh god. Oh god Karofsky-_

Kurt was going to be sick again just from the memory.

“Kurt would you-” Blaine spoke just as Kurt started going pale. “Would you like to take a shower?”

He looked so earnest. Like he knew. Like he knew how disgusting it felt to be beaten up like that. Because yes, all Kurt really wanted to do right now was wash away all of the dirt he felt on himself. He needed to wash away this bad day; he needed to wash away the bullies, and Principal Figgins and Mr. Schuester and Rachel Berry and Mercedes Jones and every member of the football team and the _catnip_ which was still lingering in his system- most of all, he needed to wash away Karofsky’s _touch_.

And goddammit he needed to wash that damn stray lock of hair back into place.

So he nodded his head thankfully; Blaine nodded back almost childishly at him before getting up. He rummaged through his drawer and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“I realize this is nowhere near fashionable enough for you, but I promise they’re extra comfortable and will actually fit you.”

Kurt’s head snapped up to him. Blaine retracted from the sudden action, unaware of what he had done wrong. Kurt blinked at him twice, his mind blank, before he accidentally inhaled too much Blaine and not enough candle and was suddenly and embarrassingly forced to notice how desperately and achingly _-_

His face must have flushed at an alarming rate, because Blaine was now not only confused, but blushing pink too. Kurt’s legs were pressed so hard into each other they were starting to go numb, though admittedly that also might be because every last drop of his blood must either be in his face or somewhere else.

“Y-You can use my shower- it’s right here,” Blaine was clearly completely bewildered as to what had Kurt blushing right now, and that only made Kurt blush harder. He slipped into his en suite bathroom and flipped on the shower for it to get warm.

_You can’t stand up. He’ll see you._

“Feel free to use any of the shampoos and conditioners you’d like,” Blaine was saying, probably expecting Kurt to be right behind him.

_You just have to sneak in and usher him out before he can notice._

Kurt stood up, desperately trying to focus on the pain in his head instead of the way his jeans shifted over him. He stood awkwardly by the door, trying to hide himself but failing terribly. Blaine brushed passed him, and Kurt held his breath and rushed into the room.

“Oh!” Blaine exclaimed, and came back in and _goddammit, no, don’t_ \- Kurt faced the opposite wall behind him, wishing to any and every higher being he didn’t believe in that Blaine would just leave and not notice. Bashfully, Kurt flashed him a look, but, “To turn it off you just have to press it in. It gets a little stuck sometimes, so don’t be afraid…”

A mark.

There was a mark.

Right there, on the right side of Blaine’s neck just over his pulse point was a huge, bright red and soon-to-be purpling hickey practically exploding off of Blaine’s skin with color.

_You did that._

The thrill coursed through him suddenly and without warning. A new, fresh waft of smell hit him at the same time. He needed Blaine underneath him again and pressed up against the door so that Kurt could ravish his lips and teeth and tongue over that mark; make it bigger and darker for the world to see so that everyone will know that this belongs to _Kurt_ -

 _“Fuck_.”

Kurt pushed himself back too quickly and almost upturned himself over the toilet seat. “Fuck, get out! _Get out-!”_

Blaine remained startled for only a moment longer before Kurt’s instruction finally clicked in his mind, and then he was out of the small room and slamming the door shut behind him.

Hyperventilating again, Kurt’s knees went so weak he had to hold himself up on the sink. The deep breaths were only making everything worse, as Blaine’s scent was still everywhere and becoming alive inside of him.

He couldn’t even process what the _hell_ had just happened. It was the goddamn catnip. The fucking catnip that fucked up his hormones and made attack Blaine Anderson’s throat. He felt sick again from the fact that he could actually _do_ that after what Karofsky had done to him. He desperately needed to get into the shower and just wash everything he felt down the drain, and he needed to do that without letting himself think about it and making himself feel even dirtier. Pulling his clothes off only made him feel more violated, even though he was the only one in the room to see. It felt like everyone was looking at him and laughing at his body and gawking at the way his spine kept growing past his tailbone and down to the floor. They were pulling at his ears and trying to stuff wads of paper in them and flip them inverted. They were looking at the large, purpling bruises on his stomach and legs and face and relentlessly thinking ‘ _he deserves them’_.

The overwhelming urge to bundle himself up in clothing and blankets and hide himself away from everyone was very present, but he didn’t succumb to it. He crawled into the tub and curled up into the tightest ball he could manage on the floor so that the spray ran over his entire body. It wasn’t the softest flooring to be doing this on, but it was what he needed.

He scrubbed himself with the bar of soap to give his hands something to do. It made him feel better, but only marginally so as he realized that underneath Blaine’s overpowering smell was and the one of his raspberry hair gel is this smell: the smell of the clean, musky soap he used on his skin every day. The scent most normal people would probably associate with him.

Kurt’s eyelids started drooping with fatigue. This day was never-ending and Kurt needed it to cease. The water drumming over his skin lulled him into a sense of security. Before he knew it, he was startling himself out of a deep sleep.

Here, of all places, in Blaine Anderson’s en suite shower, Kurt had taken a cat nap. He wasn’t sure how long it had been but the water was now starting to turn icy. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Kurt stood up and shut the shower off; mindful of the sticky faucet. He grabbed the towel that was left for him on the toilet seat and bundled up.

He wasn’t ready to go out there yet. His heartbeat picked up its pace as he concentrated on listening to the boy sitting outside. Only, there was nothing to hear.

Blaine must have left the room; bored of waiting for Kurt to come out after- god, how long was he in the shower? He couldn’t check the time on his phone because he left it in his bag in his car, but even if he could it would be useless knowing the time now as he had no idea what time he went in in the first place.

Taking Blaine’s absence as a sign, Kurt opted to dress himself and sneak out as quietly as possible without Blaine realizing he had gone. He was exquisite at being quiet.

Jaw clenching, Kurt remembered that he would have to change into the sweats and t-shirt Blaine had given him. They weren’t that bad, for being sweats and a t-shirt, but they were well worn and were pungent with scent. They were obviously something Blaine had worn quite often, or often enough, at least.

Wrinkling his nose, Kurt slipped on the clothes. Normal pants were always awkward when you have a tail, but the t-shirt fell long enough over his hips that, so long as he kept his tail down, he could wear them at a lower position.

He reeked of the smell, now. He would have to shower again- twice, maybe- just to get rid of it.

He listened again at the door, heard nothing, and slowly turned the handle and peeked the door open.

Blaine had not left the room- or at least, he was back; he was lying on the bed, arms crossed and cradling his head. Kurt made to retreat back into the solitude of the bathroom, but he was already discovered. Blaine’s head snapped up at him. Kurt could feel his face burning and refused to meet his eye.

He especially refused to let himself notice the mark on his neck again.

“I’m just gunna go,” he mumbled, pointing to the door with the bundle of ruined clothing in his hand.

He almost made it out before Blaine called from behind him, “Wait!” He froze at the door, but he didn’t turn around. “Let me at least drive you home.” Kurt’s saliva congealed in his throat. _No_ , he thought, _I need to get as far away from you as the earth allows right now_. “It’s dark,” Blaine added thoughtfully, as if it might help his case. “And you never know who’s hanging around…”

 _That_ might help his case a little bit.

Kurt nodded uneasily. Besides, the faster he gets home, the faster he gets to fall asleep in the comfort of his own bed. What’s another ten minutes not breathing or pretending to notice whose company he was in?

It went well while they waited for Blaine to slip on his shoes and find his keys, (and Kurt tried not to think about how Blaine had been able to carry Kurt _up a flight of stairs_ ) but faltered about when Blaine opened up Kurt’s car door for him. Kurt scrambled into the car and urgently tried to remember how to sing the alphabet backwards.

After Blaine had gotten out of the driveway, though, (right around the time where Kurt was trying to figure out which letter came before ‘Q’) Kurt’s thought process was interrupted. “Do you ever want to, um… talk about it?”

“Talk about what,” Kurt snapped with the flame of annoyance that had intensified all day. He didn’t need to be talking about this with Blaine Anderson, of all people.

“What those guys do to you every day,” Blaine said, almost bluntly, but his tone was still cautious.

“’Don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Kurt supplied rudely and sat down low in his seat. His arms crossed over his chest defiantly. “And it’s not just those assholes, in case you haven’t noticed.”

A moment of quiet passed, and then, “A few years ago I took the only other out gay kid to my old school’s Sadie Hawkins. We were waiting for his dad to come pick us up and a couple of kids… beat the ever-living crap out of us.” He sighed, “There had been signs leading to it for months- name calling, locker shoving. I had a broken collarbone from the incident, and my parents made me switch schools to this prestigious all-boys private school in Westerville. The kids tracked me down there and almost beat me up again. They kept shoving at my collarbone as if to remind me what they had done, and what they could do again.”

Kurt clenched his jaw tightly, scowling more than he already had been. “Why are you telling me this?”

Blaine sighed again. “I’m explaining why I make harassment my business.”

The fire in Kurt exploded. “Excuse me?!”

“I understand that I don’t know what you are going through. But I know what it’s like to be on the end of the taunts and sneers and physical attacks. I understand the fear. Granted, mine is nowhere near the extent of yours is.” Blaine took his eyes off of the road to give Kurt a meaningful look, “I know that the best thing someone can do is lend their ear and their comfort. I’m just letting you know that, um… it’s there, if you ever want to use it.”

Kurt wanted to yell. He wanted to hiss and scratch and throw a fit. Instead, he shut himself off completely and curled into his seat. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, save for Kurt’s quick, harsh attempts at telling Blaine where to turn. Kurt’s anger flooded the car and made the air thick enough to taste. As they pulled into Kurt’s driveway, Kurt was already unbuckling himself and pulling at the latch to the door. He was out of the door before the car came to a complete stop.

“ _Wait_ ,” Blaine called desperately, and Kurt felt himself pause on demand, as much as it annoyed him that he did. Blaine leaned down so that he could look Kurt in the eye. “I know you probably, um… don’t have my number anymore,” Kurt’s eyes widened as Blaine reached into his pocket and unfolded a piece of paper from in his pocket. “And I know that this one will probably end up in the same place as the other one, but you should really put it in your phone as a speed dial. If those guys ever start harassing you again like that, you should have someone to call to help bail you out.”

Blaine was holding the little slip of paper out with eyes the size of golf balls. Jaw clenched tightly, Kurt did nothing but glare at it.

The more the two of them stayed like that, the more Blaine’s expression fell. Finally, Blaine pulled the paper back. He looked heartbroken as he fiddled with it in his hands, trying to smooth out the creases of the slip. “I just… you shouldn’t be alone, Kurt. And those guys… you could really get hurt,” Blaine said, more to his fumbling hands than anything. He looked back up at Kurt with sorrowful eyes, “I’m sorry I suck at this.”

Kurt slammed the car door, took two steps back, and waited for Blaine to get out of his driveway.

Then, he stood in that spot and waited for his heart to stop beating so loudly in his ears.

_o-O-o_

Burt was tapping his foot for him in the entranceway, so it took approximately a third of a second after Kurt walked in the door for him to start.

At first his face was beat red with anger, that vein in his forehead was bulging to the limit, but as soon as he actually _saw_ Kurt, his expression fell with worry. “ _Kurt_ -,” he came towards his son, ready to cradle his beaten face in his hands before Kurt dodged him and walked past.

The sight of his father so obviously worried and angry over him triggered his guilt and shame. He hated seeing Burt like this more than anything; especially when he was the cause, which was more often than not. He picked up his speed and headed straight towards his bedroom door.

“Kurt, what happened?! Kurt, _stop_ ,” Burt called after him. The last word was ordered so harshly Kurt had no other option but to follow it. He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. “Kurt, don’t walk away, _tell me what happened_ -”

“I got beat up, okay?!” Kurt screamed, turning around and feeling his eyes welling up. “Is that what you want to hear?!”

Burt faltered. He was used to Kurt snapping at him, but sometimes it caught him off guard; especially when it was mixed with the hurt and pain he was in right now. Kurt was fighting the tears as best he could, but it was a losing battle. Sighing, Burt pulled Kurt into his arms.

“Of course it’s not, Kurt,” he said against Kurt’s hair. “God, no parent ever wants to hear that about their kid.”

Like Blaine, Burt had a very strong, significant scent to him. Unlike Blaine, Burt’s was calming and fatherly and _safe_. Next to Elizabeth’s, it was his favorite scent in the world. Sometimes, Kurt wished he could drown himself in it. He could already feel his day unwinding from him, but with it brought his emotions back anew. His hands gripped tightly into the back of Burt’s flannel shirt.

Eventually, Burt pulled back. Kurt tried to follow him, but his father had a decent grip on his arms to keep eye contact. He nodded to the kitchen. “We are going to sit at that table and you are going to tell me exactly what the hell went on today.”

“Dad,” Kurt shook his head, his emotions coming back stronger now that he was no longer in his father’s shoulder. “I just want to go to sleep- I need this day to be over-”

“No,” Burt said sternly. “I got home today and you weren’t here- no note, no text message telling me where you were. I called the school to find out you had _detention_ for trying to start a food fight?!” Kurt’s ears fell flat on his head. “Detention’s supposed to end at five, it is now 7:30 and you have not answered any of my calls, and then some random car shows up in our driveway and you get out of it with a bruise and cuts covering half of your face. Kurt, I need to know what was going on.”

“Does it look like I want to relive this right now?!” Kurt broke out of Burt’s grip on his arms as they had started burning his skin. “I haven’t been asleep since this morning, and I’ve had the most traumatic day since I entered that school and I just _don’t. Want. To talk right now_.”

Burt looked sympathetic, but the vein in his forehead was back. “Kurt,” he sounded like he was trying very hard not to yell. “I understand that you have not gotten enough sleep today yet. But I also know that if you don’t tell me about your day right now, you’re gunna do that thing where you make yourself forget about it. You are going to tell me what the hell happened that made you get detention, why the hell you didn’t answer any of my texts or calls, and who the hell is responsible for giving you that bruise.”

Kurt could feel his own vein in his jaw bulging as he gritted his teeth. “I got detention because I stood up to some Neanderthals at lunch.”

“By trying to start a food fight?!”

Kurt would face palm if he wasn’t so angry. “They put…” He sighed deeply, because he knew what he was getting himself into by admitting this. “They put cat food on my lunch, and I was already having a pretty shitty day, so I threw it back at him.”

The fire in Burt’s eyes was familiar. “They put-”

“Yes, Dad, _cat food_ ,” Kurt crossed his arms, his tone underlying that Burt should not interrupt him. “I know how unjust it was, so you don’t need to go on a tirade. And I wasn’t ‘trying to start a food fight’, I was just… angry. I had to retaliate. And it felt really good.”

“Who was it?” Burt demanded.

“Does it really matter?” Kurt tried. The fire intensified, and Kurt cut it off. “If it’s not one person today, it’s someone else tomorrow.”

“Did he at least get detention too? For harassment?”

“Nope. Our lovely school system does not classify what he did to be ‘harassment’.”

The fire turned icy as Burt came to a conclusion in his mind. “He’s the one who did that to you? As some sort of sick revenge?”

Kurt swallowed roughly. He hated this more than the actual harassment. He’s never wanted to let his parents in on just how badly he was bullied. It was his own fight; Burt had been dragged down with him from the start, and Kurt’s never stopped feeling guilty about it. “He… didn’t like that I stood up for myself.”

“Who was it?” Burt insisted again.

“It doesn’t matter-”

“Goddammit, yes it _does_!” Burt finally cracked. “This is your _life_ , Kurt! Do you know how scared I was, with you not answering your phone?! You could have died-”

“It was in my car!” Kurt defended himself. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you before detention but I was having a shitty day and I _forgot_ \- I should have texted you. I should have just shut up and not let my anger get to me, I should have taken a different exit out of the school, I should have _ran faster_ \- but I _didn’t_. What’s done is done, and please just _let_ it be done-”

“But it won’t be done, Kurt!” Burt yelled back. “Letting him get away this time only sets him up for hurting you again. If you want it to end then you have to do something about it- let me do something about it for you. I’ll go to your principal and get that kid expelled-”

“That’d be a wonderful plan if Principal Figgins wasn’t just as big of a bigot as the rest of them! Who do you think assigned me detention?”

Burt wasn’t deterred in the slightest. “Then we’ll file a lawsuit-”

“Just stop, okay?!” Kurt cried out almost desperately. “I don’t want to file any lawsuits, alright?! Besides, it’d be kind of difficult to sue every kid who chased me-”

Kurt’s eyes went wide at the same time Burt’s did. He clamped his mouth shut, but the damage was already done. “Every…” Burt started in disbelief. “Kurt. How many were there.”

It wasn’t a question.

“…It doesn’t-”

“ _Kurt_.” The floor became very interesting to watch. His mumbling was almost indistinguishable, but Burt managed. “Half- _Half the football team_?!” Burt exclaimed. “Kurt, that’s… that’s roughly 20 guys-” Kurt’s eyes flashed up at him bitterly until Burt realized that he was serious. “He- he got- he got 20 guys- _20 guys_ who were trained in beating things up to-”

“They didn’t all beat me up,” Kurt hissed. “They just- they chased me a couple of blocks.”

Burt looked as if he was going to be feint. He pointed his finger at his son. “We are going down to the school tomorrow-”

“Stop it, Burt,” Kurt was starting to shake. He scared himself; it had been so long since the last time he referred to his father by his first name out loud. “I don’t want you to go down to the school- I don’t want you to do anything, okay?! You’ve- you’ve done enough-”

Hands started reaching out to console him again, but Kurt’s inhumanly quick reflexes batted them away on instinct. His father had taken a step back in fright, his jaw hanging slightly in shock and a pained expression in his eye. Kurt’s stomach dropped when he realized what he had done.

He always fucked everything up.

Carefully, Burt spoke, “Kurt, I’m your father. It’s my job to protect you, no matter how much you want to do everything on your own.” He had his hands reached out; almost touching in a way that only brought back the vivid memory of Kurt slapping them away. “We will go to your school, and get each and every one of those assholes the punishment they deserve. I don’t care if I have to hold a picket sign out in front of the building by myself for a month. Your safety is worth it to me.”

Swallowing, Kurt looked his father in the eye. “We don’t… even have any evidence.”

“A group of 20-some blockheaded football players chasing a kid with a tail around a neighborhood for a mile,” Burt said, his voice almost sounding like he was joking. “I think we’ll find someone to testify for us.” Kurt nodded, but didn’t say anything for a long while. “I see your cuts have been cleaned,” Burt noticed, trying to lighten the mood.

Kurt only stiffened. “Can I go to bed now?” he asked, desperate.

Burt grunted and stepped back. “Go. I know how much you need to sleep. You’re not attending that school tomorrow, so you have all morning to make up for it.”

He was almost to his room when Burt called back to him. “Who was the kid who dropped you off?”

 _Damn. So close_. “Just… some kid.”

Quiet for a moment, Burt finally responded with, “Thank him for me.”

When Kurt flopped into bed, he was almost instantly asleep. His emotions bubbled around inside of him, and he felt like punching everything and falling to a sobbing mess to the floor, but he was far too tired for the dramatics. He allowed himself a moment to brood and silently scream it all out before his exhaustion completely knocked him out.

And for some reason, he found that what frustrated him the most was the realization that that lock of hair was finally in its place.

_o-O-o_


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt stayed in bed sleeping on and off for a full seventeen hours total, with only two sluggish breaks in between to fill his stomach, release his bladder, and relocate to his sunroom before his father finally woke him up. “We’re going down to that school and having a chat with the principal,” Burt urged, home from work at an odd time. “No if, ands, or buts, kiddo.” And Kurt had no choice but to follow his orders once he gave his initial ‘okay’.

Really, it was considered cheating when you used scratching behind Kurt’s ears as a form of persuasion.

“Figgins,” Burt addressed the principal an hour later. School only had another half hour left before letting out, and Kurt was hoping this encounter would either end quickly, before the bell, or it would last long enough that everyone would either be gone or thoroughly engaged in their specific afterschool activities. His father had that ‘all-business’ look in his eye and it was hard to judge if he wanted to be quick and concise or if he wanted to rant Principal Figgins’s ear off.

Figgins arranged some of the papers on his desk with a slight purse to his lips. “Yes, Mr. Hummel. You wanted to talk to me about your son’s punishment?” His jaw clenched, and it was obvious that he was irked at having an angry father telling him how to do his job.

“Yes, I want to talk about that,” Burt accommodated. “But first I wish to talk about you so call ‘star athletes’ that are getting 50% of this school’s budget.”

“If it bothers you, you should bring that up at our next PTA meeting-”

“I’m talking about what those kids do to my _son_ , Figgins,” Figgins’s lips clamped shut. After a beat, Burt continued. “I want to discuss with you your school’s stance on bullying.”

“This school has an excellent anti-bullying club for those who see themselves as victims,” Figgins informed.

Scoffing, Burt leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, and what do these meetings consist of? Teaching kids to be quieter, to fit in more? The problem isn’t the victim, it’s the harasser, and you’re doing a damn bad job controlling it.”

Principal Figgins’s face hardened. “Any incident of harassment is dealt with immediately and strictly.”

“Is that so?” Burt humored. Kurt’s ears flattened down into his hair as if trying not to hear this conversation. He ducked his head and did his best to not to blush. “Then explain to me why it is acceptable for some kids to drop a demeaning and degrading substance onto my son’s food during lunch?”

Jaw clenching, Figgins pursed his lips. “Cat food is hardly a demeaning substance, Mr. Hummel. There is no evidence to prove that he didn’t bring it in himself.”

“So you think it’d be acceptable if someone poured an entire bottle of curry powder over your food while you were trying to eat?”

 _Damn_. Kurt clamped his lips together to keep from smiling as Principal Figgins’s face went bright red. “Do _not_ make a mockery of my culture, Mr. Hummel!”

“For you it’s your race, but for my son it’s half of his DNA,” Burt continued. “If racial discrimination is wrong then what makes this act toward of my son any different? My son would never had thrown the _anything_ without something that set him off. These boys have been harassing him since he first came to this town. Last night, half of the football team chased him around town and beat him up, and I am not leaving until every last one of them serves the punishment they deserve.”

Hands slammed down onto the desk with far too much bravado than was needed. “As justifiable as you seem to think it was, Kurt still threw food at another student on school grounds, and therefore he has to serve his punishment. And I ask that before you go accusing a large number of our athletes of harassment that you come to me with decent evidence.”

“If the bruise on his face doesn’t serve enough evidence for you to not jump to the safety of one of your students, then it better be damn time for you to lose your job.” Burt’s booming voice yelled back, loud and angry. “Football practice let out at the same time as detention yesterday. This school is supposed to have security cameras set up all around it. Check the footage.”

“Our outdoors security cameras have been out of commission since the start of the school year,” Figgins informed, rubbing his temples and fuming from the jab at his job. “But if you can give me names of whoever harassed you, I will look into it. There isn’t much I can do without real evidence or a witness. I hope you realize where I come from when I mention how improbable it seems that that many students would be harassing another boy to that extent at the same time.”

“We’ll have the evidence,” Burt promised. “And in the meantime, Kurt’s detentions need to be revoked.”

Figgins waved Burt off offhandishly “There is nothing I can do about Kurt’s detentions.”

“There is plenty you can do about Kurt’s detentions,” Burt told him, leaning forward in his seat now. “He has to sleep in those hours after school or he risks his immune system lowering and getting sick. I’ll have his doctor sign him off on it if you need it. Kurt can always serve his time during lunch stacking library books, or TA-ing a teacher. Hell, if you can find him something to do around 8 at night even, that’d be fine.”

A harsh voice came from behind them, and it came so sudden Kurt jumped. “Kurtie-Cat can always come clean up after Cheerio practice. I’m sure his obvious early stages of OCD could definitely be put to good use out there.”

The awful red track uniform sat itself on top of Figgins’s desk and made Kurt look up right in her eyes. Sue Sylvester was head coach of the Championship winning Cheerios, her notoriety and successes making her very powerful and influential. Kurt may-or-may-not have reason to believe she is on horse estrogen.

“That nickname is offensive,” Kurt finally spoke up for the first time since entering the office.

Sue smiled at him, though even that was fairly degrading. “We clean up at 8 most nights, giving Ms. Porcelain Doll over here plenty of time to awaken from her beauty sleep and have enough time to lick herself presentable.”

“My _son_ is a _boy_ ,” Burt bit, his face hard.

“It was meant as a compliment, Cheese Fry,” Sue said distinguishably. “Being called a woman is a great honor.”

“Fine,” Figgins interjected, close to a breaking point himself. “Kurt, you will serve the rest of your detentions by helping Sue and her Cheerios clean up after their practices.”

“Wait- _no_ -” Kurt started, but then he stopped himself. So far, things have only gotten worse from this meeting. Helping the Cheerios meant being once again in the presence of Blaine, plus the other cheerleaders whom he has long since learned to steer clear of.

“Is there a problem with this punishment?” Figgins deadpanned, his fuse already burning on its last strand.

“ _Yes_ ,” Kurt supplied automatically before he could stop himself. He floundered for an excuse, any excuse, but there was none he could come up with without his father knowing it was a complete lie. Sue raised an eyebrow at him, and he knew that she would see it too. Defeated, Kurt’s shoulders dropped. “I-I guess not…”

Delighted, Figgins got up from his chair and opened the door pointedly. “Wonderful. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I wish both of you a lovely day.”

Burt rolled his eyes as he stood. “Are you seriously not going to check any tapes for evidence?” He noted in disbelief. “This is about the safety of your students, and you aren’t going to even _try_ to ensure it?”

“I have already stated that we have no outdoor camera footage,” Figgins droned. “It is up to you to find yourselves a witness to the harassment. If what you say is true, it shouldn’t be h-”

“I’m a witness,” came a new, meek voice from in the lobby.

Instinctively, Kurt held his breath.

 _No_.

“Ah, Flame Starter, I see you have my Protein coffee,” Sue took the travel mug Blaine had delivered and took a sip.

“You?” Figgins said in dubiously.

Stubbornly, Kurt refused to look up from the tiled floor. His face was getting hot and red from the blood coursing through him. “Cheerios practice ended early last night, so I was catching up on homework when a large number of boys started parading around in my front lawn. Around a quarter to 6? I thought they were just being obnoxious, but then I realized that they had Kurt pinned to the ground. They were…” he paused here, and so did Kurt’s heartbeat. “They were definitely harassing him, sir. I scared them away and helped Kurt clean up.”

Kurt could barely see through his rage. The rumbling in his chest from his increased heartbeat was starting to get out of hand. “Is this true?” Figgins sounded flabbergasted, as if he honestly thought Kurt had been making the entire thing up. Burt and Sue were talking now, but Kurt could hardly hear them.

“He’s lying.”

The talking stopped.

“What?” someone asked.

“He’s lying,” Kurt repeated himself. “I made the entire thing up.” He didn’t look at anyone as he said it. “I wanted to get back at them for being douchebags so I staged the whole thing.”

He couldn’t bear to be in this room any longer. He shoved his way out of it with a cold, hard shoulder to Blaine in the process. As he walked, he began to pick up his pace until he was almost running. He could feel the walls of this hallway closing in on him and suffocating him and god he just needed to be out of this school. Kurt ran out of the building to where his car was parked from the day before.

_o-O-o_

“Kurtie-Pumpkin, it’s been a whi- Kurt? Baby, what’s wrong?” Shelby startled when Kurt found himself bursting into the animal shelter hardly ten minutes later.

He had no idea what he was doing here, to be honest. All he knew was that he trusted these girls, and he just- he needed someone. He wished he had his old therapist to run to, but she had been taken away from him by the government for not complying to share details of their sessions. He wiped off the dried stream of tears that had let loose over the drive and winced when he was reminded of the bruises on his face. “I-is Brittany here?” He asked meekly.

“No, she has cheerleading practice some the afternoons,” She explained as she led him by the arm around back to the reception area, where the other girls were all lounging and giving him their full attention.

A few of them spoke up at the same time.

“Oh, baby, what happened to your face?”

“Kurt, you’re _crying_ -”

“Kitten, you tell me who the hell did that to your pretty little face and I will break their kneecaps in-”

Overwhelmed, Kurt could feel the tears coming back. “I don’t know, I don’t _know_ -” Several pairs of hands ushered him to sit down in one of the fold-out chairs. Before he knew it, he had a grape juice box shoved in his hand as well. “I don’t know why I’m crying I just- I just don’t know what I’m _doing_ anymore-”

“Kurt,” Jackie was squatting down beside him and making him look her in the eye. “Kurt, Sweetie, just calm down, okay?” More than one hand was rubbing at his back soothingly. “Why don’t you tell us what’s happened to get you all upset.”

“I don’t even know why I’m upset- it’s just this- just this kid-”

“Is it the kid who gave you those bruises?” Sheryl interrupted breathlessly. “Why, I’ll-”

“Shh, Sheryl,” Jackie scolded, sounding motherly. “Let the boy talk.”

Kurt took several long breaths to calm himself down. The rumbling in his chest came easier to control this way. “God, no, not them. Not those assholes. I’m not upset because of-” he cut himself off with the need to swallow down the lump in his throat.

“Tell us everything, Kurt,” Michelle spoke, filled with worry.

In the end, he didn’t tell them everything. There were several details that he ghosted over: most of the bullying episodes, the fact that catnip was involved, and everything about Karofsky. He also left out most details from in Blaine’s room regarding what the change in Blaine’s scent made Kurt do. It wasn’t anything Kurt had let himself think about, and he was well into denying it had ever happened.

“Oh Kurt,” Shelby exclaimed with a hand over her chest when he finished.

“Someone oughta smack that boy upside the head,” Sheryl ranted. “He needs to understand when he’s not wanted! If your instincts tell you not to trust him, then don’t trust him! Tell you what, Kitten, you bring him around here and I’ll do it for you. Meanwhile, bring in that dope of a principal ya got-”

“That’s horrible advice, Sheryl,” Shelby warned. “Kurt, I don’t think he’ll be comin’ around again. And if he does, just tell him that he is not needed, and that he can help you by staying away from you.”

“Ya should’ve let him help you though,” Michelle added. “I understand if his smell tells you that he’s dangerous, but you need to go back to your school and tell them about the bullying. You don’t ever have to talk to him again if you don’t want to, but your safety is worth it.”

Her advice made his heart drop. He didn’t want to go to his school. He didn’t want to handle with any more of this bullying crap with Figgins. Hesitantly, he lifted his eyes to Jackie, whose lips were tight together and eyes sharp with insight. “…Jackie?” he asked for her to speak.

“I think…” She was hesitant as well, choosing her words carefully. “Kurt, sweetheart, do you think that maybe you’re reading your instincts wrong?”

Air rushed out of Kurt’s lungs. “ _What_?” he snapped, offended.

“Sweetheart,” she rubbed at his arms trying to soothe him. “I know that I don’t have any clue what it’s like to have instincts as strong as yours, but I’m speaking… well, I’m speaking as someone who has a degree in being a veterinarian. Kurt, I think you’re confusing ‘dangerous’ with ‘new’.”

He blinked twice. “ _New_?”

“See, it happens all of the time to animals, especially cats,” She explained as she reorganized herself in front of him, still weary of upsetting him. “They are always afraid when something is different, or changing, or _new_ to them. It sets off their anxiety. You think that your instincts are telling you that this smell is dangerous, when all it is is new. Normally, cats are curious and they explore the smell and eventually settle down, but when one has been through such a rough life, it’s harder for them to trust anything that they don’t know. It’s all very natural.”

Her words weren’t making any sense to him. “Why would a new smell on someone that I don’t already know be good? What new smell would it b-” His face went beat red as he remembered last night, and what that dark mark on Blaine’s neck.

“I think that’s something you’ll have to figure out on your own,” Jackie said wisely, patting his leg. “If you don’t want to go back to that school and give them names, then that’s your own choice. You should, but it’s up to you and when you’re ready. Just know that that’s the only way you’re going to get them to stop.”

He nodded, his mind still racing, and took the last sip of his juice. Sheryl spoke again, “Kitten, your face is too pretty to be lettin’ those crackwipes be touchin’ it. You’ve gotta protect yourself.”

“And in the meantime,” Michelle added hopefully, “maybe you should try to consider his offer. About the phone number. You need to have a way out, and I’m afraid Sheryl here would only land herself in jail.”

Silent, Kurt simply nodded in response. He was buzzing with confusion and anxiety, and frankly all the smells that come with the animal shelter were starting to give him a headache. After a moment, he ran a hand through his hair, for once not even caring if he messed it up. “I think I’m gunna go home, now.” He didn’t say anything as he left, but he took the girls’ kind parting words as best as he could.

_o-O-o_

As suspected, Burt’s car was in the driveway when he got home. And Kurt knew that he’d be waiting by the front door when he got in. To Kurt’s surprise, though, he didn’t look in the least bit mad. Kurt slipped off his shoes awkwardly as he waited for the lecture.

“Kurt, all I ask is that you please don’t… disappear on me like that again, okay?” Once again, Kurt only nodded and kept his eyes trained on the ground. Burt seemed uneasy with his silence, and kept going. “I realize that whether you want to admit to the harassment and do something about it or not is your choice.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said.

The silence was even more awkward, only to be amplified by Burt rubbing the back of his head. “So this… Blaine kid-”

“Oh my god,” Kurt’s face reddened. “Oh my _god_ , don’t- do not- we are _not_ talking about him.”

Burt ignored him. “You know you’re allowed to have _friends_ , right?”

“He is _not_ my friend!” Kurt denied quickly, wishing the floor would cave in under him. “He’s-” he went to deny even further, but he caught himself. “No, we’re not talking about this.” He brushed passed his father, trying to save a little bit of dignity.

“Why not? He’s a nice kid. I talked to him for a little bit-”

“You _talked_ to him?!” Kurt spun around on his heel, absolutely mortified. “What the hell did you talk ab- wait- no, don’t answer that-”

Chuckling, Burt persisted, “He’s a good kid, Kurt. And you should have someone to talk to.”

“I- You-” Kurt floundered for a moment, trying to wrap his head around this situation. “I can’t believe- you- this is none of your concern!”

“You’re my son, of course it is.”

“Yeah, well, in case you haven’t noticed, that kid is a whole basket case of emotions for me right now, so if you could please just- _not_ get mixed in with it, that’d be great.” Letting out a quick, exasperated breath, Kurt surveyed his father carefully. Burt had a small smirk, as was shaking his head lightly.

“You’re over-thinking this all, Kurt,” he said, resting his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. Pointedly, he repeated, “You’re _allowed_ to make _friends_.”

Biting his tongue for a moment, Kurt retorted in one of the best ways he knew how: manipulating the conversation. “Oh, like how you’re allowed to date?”

Burt gasped, his jaw clamping shut. The hands slipped off of Kurt’s shoulders. “I- uhh. That has nothing to do with what we were talking about.”

“I’m just saying that you have no say in my… friendships as I have no say in your relationships.”

The awkwardness settled over them again thickly for several long minutes. “Okay,” Burt said.

“Okay,” Kurt replied.

Feeling that the conversation was over, Kurt reached for the door to his bedroom. He almost shut himself behind it before Burt called out to him one last time, “Just give people a chance, Kurt.” Kurt slammed the door harder than he intended, but that didn’t stop his inhumanly acute audible range from hearing the broken mumbling through the door.

“ _Just give me a chance_.”

 The guilt was bone crushing. He was pushing away the one and only shred of light in his life. The anger and hatred for himself crumpled up the yellow-post it note stuck to his wall and chucked in into the garbage.

The fear of hurting his father even more pulled the wad back out and un-creased it until the seven digits were legible enough to copy into his phone.

_o-O-o_

Kurt forced himself to make it down to the school at sharply 8pm. He could feel the thrumming of judgmental eyes on his as deep as in his veins even before he got out of his car. Kurt hated to stereotype, but cheerleaders were the one social race where literally every girl gave him those nasty little looks of disgust. Maybe it was just the Cheerios, and how they all seemed to be from the upper, rich side of town which generally held more prejudice. Regardless, Kurt’s history with them has in no way been clean.

They were the catty ones, and it’s serious when Kurt Hummel uses that term. In a way, they were the ones who made him socially unaccepted. The male jocks and bullies kept things physical, but these girls were the ones who kept the harassment verbally, hidden but vicious. They made it known that pleasant interaction with Kurt on any level would be social downfall.

They’re the reason Kurt was so lonely.

His tail twitched uncontrollably from the discomfort as he entered the football field. The girls were already folding up mats and _is that a human canon?_ He wasn’t certain what exactly he was expected to do, though, and he wanted to be out of here as quickly as possible. Blaine’s scent was in the air stronger than all of the other girls’, but Kurt didn’t dare look for him.

“Coach Sylvester?” he got her attention as she was lifting an empty water jug.

“Ahh, Kurtie-Cat,” she began walking back to the locker rooms, and Kurt hastened to followed. “I thought I smelled your dandruff.”

“I do not have dandruff!” Kurt hissed as humanly as possible, but the Coach only hummed noncommittally. His tail twitched harder in aggravation. “What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?”

“Cleaning up.”

Kurt looked around to where the stadium was just filtering out of girls in polyester skirted uniforms carrying large mats on carts. His eyebrows furrowed. “Everyone’s already cleaned up…?”

“Yup,” a hand hit his shoulder as Sue walked passed him. “Good job. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then she left.

Dumbstruck, Kurt tried to process what had just happened.

“Hi, Kurt,” an unfamiliar female arm linked in his and started dragging him before his brain had time to catch up with him. “Do you mind if I walk you to your car?”

He jumped once to free himself from the grip, then twice as he realized that this was Ice Queen Quinn Fabray, head cheerleader and head of the reason Kurt has lived his life in solitude. To add to Kurt’s suspicion, he could smell Blaine on her. “I do, actually,” he snapped rudely and headed back his car.

“Do you now?” As she said it, Kurt caught the sight of letterman jackets in a group by the parking lot. Heart skipping a beat, Kurt swallowed harshly. _Do those idiots ever actually leave the school?_ “As I was saying,” Quinn continued behind him, her voice ice cold. “Let me walk you to your car.”

He pressed forward, his anxiety level rising with the loudness of the rambunctious group of boys as he got closer. Quinn was right next to him, but he made every effort to ignore her until she tried to link their arms again. “ _What do you think you are doing_?!” he hissed, trying to keep quiet. Any moment now one of those boys were going to see him.

“Trust me,” was all she said as she finally claimed his arm.

She led him right passed the group of boys, and Kurt couldn’t stop himself from stealing a glance; he knew that his heart would stop again when he saw them staring. But to Kurt’s surprise, the boys didn’t chase after him. Instead, they looked downright baffled at Quinn’s blatant display. Kurt’s heart was beating up in his throat, but they made it all the way to Kurt’s Navigator without anyone even calling out to him.

Quinn dropped his arm. “ _What the hell was that_?!” Kurt yelled at her as quietly as he could. His face was beat red and the ears on his head fell flat into his hair. The bullies were still over in their corner, a few of them pacing back and forth and watching him as if locked behind iron bars.

“What was what?” She asked, a question that would be innocent if it weren’t for her fiery glare.

Kurt couldn’t dare step up to her challenge. He was fuming and confused, and there was no way he was trusting this girl for a second. He opened the driver’s side door with a fueled passion, tempted to just get in it and leave. He stopped himself. “Are you or are you not going to lecture me about Blaine?”

Her arms crossed over her chest. “Do you _want_ me to lecture you about Blaine?”

“Isn’t that what-” his jaw snapped shut as he realized what was actually going on. Blaine’s scent was still strong on her.

“Get in your car, Kurt.” She was looking up at him with strong eyes and tight lips. Everything about her wreaked of dominance despite her small form.

But Kurt was livid. “Fuck off,” he cursed at her, meaning every ounce of it. He slammed the door in her face and revved his car up.

He didn’t need to be _protected_.

_o-O-o_

The next day at school was even worse. He was greeted at his locker by Santana the first thing in the morning. “Good morning, Doll-Face,” she chirped into his ear, making him drop his trigonometry book.

He took a moment to control his blood pressure. “What are you doing here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I not allowed to be in this neck of the halls? Did you already claim this area with your piss?”

“ _Santana_ ,” he was already in a bad mood, because once again he skipped out on his coffee this morning because of a certain scent in the air. An eyebrow of hers lifted knowingly, and Kurt wanted to scratch that smirk off her face. “What do you want?!”

“What? I can’t chat up a friend in the morning if I feel like it?”

A vein on Kurt’s chin visibly pulsed. “Then go find one of your _friends_ , because I certainly am not one of them.”

“Sure we are, Kurtsie; don’t you know that a mutual disliking is the perfect way to start a friendship?” Kurt slammed his locker shut and started walking away from her. “We keep each other real that way. Why do you think Quinn and I are so close?”

Her hand wrapped around his elbow, and Kurt was inhumanly quick to throw it off. “Don’t touch me.”

“Fine,” she settled for walking far too close next to him. In retaliation, he tried to cut through some people as to throw her off, but it only worked for a moment. He sped up. “Jesus, Hummel, slow down, would you?”

He spun on his heel and looked her straight in the eye. “Leave me alone.”

Her long, dark eyelashes batted up at him falsely innocent, but her voice was dead cold. “You’re cute, Hummel.”

“Fucking hell,” Kurt cursed under his breath and set off on his destination back to homeroom. He didn’t spare her anything as he reached the classroom in favor of giving off a cold shoulder.

_o-O-o_

Kurt was fairly certain he was going to burst into flames with the amount of rage and anxiety in his system. After homeroom, Courtney Coalfield was pressed into his side and talking his ear off the entire way to their shared first class about something Kurt was too angry to remember, her high pony and uniform skirt brushing into him on every sway. Second period it was Alisha Forth who was much quieter and sending off almost demonic waves of hatred, but when he tried to walk away from her she almost ripped off his tail. Then Trisha Knox, Stephani Holland, Quinn again; the list of cheerleaders went on and on until Santana, and in tow Brittany, met up to walk him to his last period of the day.

He caught sight of them outside his class five minutes early when he feigned sickness; he was desperately hoping to slip out of his class early enough before whichever uniform clad prima donna could reach him. He tried to slip past them, to no avail.

“Hummel, slow your ass down,” it was Santana again calling after him, but Kurt wasn’t having any of it.

“Fuck off, Santana,” he yelled back, no intentions whatsoever to heed her demand. He quickened his step.

“Goddamn, Hummel, what even is your problem?”

Livid, Kurt reached his locker and started shoving his books in there. “My problem is having every goddamn being with estrogen and pom poms within a forty-mile radius of this school suddenly deciding to passive aggressively skip off to class with me.” His locker slammed shut loudly. “If I even _look_ at those hideous uniforms one more time I’m going to have an aneurism. Not everyone can pull off that much red, and polyester is a _sin_.”

“Wow, okay-”

“ _No_ , Santana, you will listen to _me_ this time,” he didn’t turn around to face her, but he knew she and Brittany were right on his tail. “I know what’s going on here and it needs to stop. You think you’re helping me but I’m on the edge of jumping off this building myself. Do you even understand how many times those very same girls you’re sending to ‘help’ me have harassed me themselves? Do you think I don’t know what you all say about me? What some of you have said to my _face_? So just- _stop_.”

In his fury, Kurt had accidentally power walked all the way to his last class without the first warning bell even ringing. He slid down the wall and onto the floor with his heels of his hands pressing into his eyes, attempting to calm his headache. Santana’s voice startled him by being severely softer. “Talk to Blaine.”

“I shouldn’t _have_ to talk to Blaine- you should all just _leave_ when I ask you to _leave_ ; why can’t you just respect my wishes?”

“Because we respect Blaine a hell of a lot more than we respect you.”

The bell rang at that moment. The door behind them and the ones around them opened, spilling teenagers out into the halls in large bunches. Kurt picked himself up off of the floor and waited for the last student to trickle out of the room so he could plant himself in his seat in the back corner of the room.

Brittany and Santana did not follow him in as he expected, and he was grateful. He wished he still had his copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. As per usual, when Blaine’s scent entered the room Kurt held his breath and tried to work out how to breathe without smelling. Other than that, Blaine was pointedly ignored. Unsurprisingly, Kurt’s Calculus grade was plummeting. It was hard to focus on the lecture when he had to put so much effort into ignoring the head of gel sitting right in front of the teacher. Still, Kurt bore through it like he did every day, trying to calm the twitch of agitation in his tail.

He stewed throughout the lesson. He would have to talk to Blaine whether he wanted to or not, because he knew that Santana was right; the girls were only doing this to please Blaine. He would pull him aside after class let out and demand that he get the girls to stop, and in the meantime, to also stop… _everything_. To stop looking at him during class and trying to talk to him whenever and to just… _stop_.

But when the bell rang, Kurt took one look down to collect his notebook and Blaine was gone.

Of all the times for Blaine to disappear, it _would_ be the one incident where Kurt was looking to find him. Kurt bolted down the hall after him and practically threw him into wall to get him to stop.

“What the hell are you trying to pull?!” Kurt raised his voice in a whisper.

“Kurt-?”

Blaine’s honey eyes went wide in surprise, and Kurt was suddenly regretting chasing him down. “What you’re trying to do is not working, so just stop,” Kurt felt out of breath, but he didn’t think it was from his short run to chase down Blaine.

“Kurt, what are you-?”

“The cheerleaders, the goddamn cheerleaders- tell them to lay off!”

A deep sigh pushed out of Blaine, and Kurt clenched his jaw to keep from breathing it in. His hand had started to burn with the realization that he hadn’t let go of Blaine’s arm yet. He dropped it bitterly. “Look, Kurt, just calm down, okay-?”

“ _I will not calm down_!” as if to contradict him, Kurt’s heartbeat raced to the point where he had to calm his purring, which always picked up when he was livid. His next words got caught in his throat with a tiny mewl in shock from how quickly it started.

“Kurt,” Blaine grasped his hand onto Kurt’s bicep, his eyebrows pointing upwards with worry.

Kurt slapped them away. “ _Don’t touch me_ -”

“Okay, okay, I won’t, see?” Blaine lifted his hands away to show him and Kurt oddly felt like slapping him for the sentiment. “Now, what’s the matter?”

Kurt flashed him the strongest glare that he could muster. Blaine blinked and fell back slightly at the intensity. “Call the girls off,” Kurt ordered.

Blaine sighed again, the expression on his face now devastatingly sad. “Kurt, you should really-”

“No!” Kurt cut him off, not caring what he had to say on the subject. “Do you not understand that those girls you’re making follow me are just as big of bullies to me as Karofsky and Adams?! What makes you think I want to be around them?”

“All of those girls volunteered to help you of their own free will,” Blaine explained. “No girl on the team is allowed to say anything hurtful to you, or about you without risking getting dropped off of the team.”

Kurt’s eyes squinted, “It makes me feel so much better knowing that they have to follow your orders to not be assholes instead of actually being decent people by themselves.”

“Those are Coach Sylvester’s orders,” Blaine corrected. Kurt caught himself on this bit of information, but he continued nonetheless.

“But they’re your orders to have them follow me around.”

Crestfallen, Blaine had to avert his eyes. “They weren’t orders, I asked them. They wouldn’t be doing it if they didn’t want to.”

“They only want to because you want them to,” Kurt added cynically. “So tell them to knock it off because their so-called ‘help’ is making my hair fall out.”

The moment was quiet, Blaine choosing his words carefully. Kurt was starting to feel the eyes of several peers on their conversation. He only just noticed another Cheerio uniform-clad girl probably expecting to walk Kurt to his car with her jaw dropped. It looked as if Blaine was plucking up the courage, but finally he looked Kurt in the eye sternly. “Kurt, have you even _seen_ a football jersey today?”

“I-” Kurt’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Look to your right and be discreet,” Blaine held his books closer to his chest.

Wearily, Kurt did and quickly averted them at the sight. A few scowling football players were grumbling at him, but they stayed far away, once again as if they were held back by iron bars. Kurt realized for the first time that day that he had yet to be shoved into a locker; a miracle that had not happened in almost a month. He felt the hot shame of embarrassment settle low in his belly. He turned back to Blaine. “I don’t need your help,” he said flatly, but determined.

“Kurt,” it was a plea, as if he was begging Kurt to let him in just this once.

“Leave me alone.”

Kurt could feel the way it slapped Blaine across the face, and the guilt inside of him ruptured. Blaine had placed his hand out in front of the Cheerio to stop her from following him down the hallway, but for some reason it didn’t feel like a victory. His eyes started to burn with the threat of watering, but Kurt refused them. He should not be upset over this; this is what he wanted. It was just his emotions getting more and more strung within him from the oncoming heat season. He cursed at his Cat under his breath for choosing _this_ year to be particularly strong. He couldn’t have had better timing, could he?

He was in such dismay that he didn’t look around him until he was standing next to his car, which was surrounded by three red jackets. He let out a very loud, and not very human sound of frustration. “Can’t we just _not_ do this today?!”

The group around him laughed nastily. Kurt didn’t pay attention to who was around him.

“We haven’t seen you all day, Pussy-Cat.”

“Did you think you could use your shields forever?”

 _Shields_ , Kurt mentally repeated spitefully. The first shove landed him into the side of his Navigator.

“What part of any of this is even fun for you guys anymore?!” he yelled, ignoring the ringing pain in his elbow from hitting the hard finish of his car. “It’s the same insults and punches you’ve been throwing for the past decade; why don’t you go do something constructive and original for once?”

“Would you like us to add something new to the routine?”

Kurt almost bit back sarcastically that _yeah, that’d be nice,_ but he recognized the voice and felt it run down his spine shrilly. He tried to look Karofsky in the eye, but the more he did that the more uneasy his stomach felt. “Why don’t you just leave me alone for once?” He refused to let his voice waver. “I don’t see why it’s necessary to pine after me day after day.”

“Because you’re a _freak_ , Pussy!” Michael Thorn shouted loud enough for the entire parking lot to hear.

Kurt winced.

“You’re not welcome in this town, Cat,” Josh Kush reminded him. “You’re not even human; you shouldn’t be welcome on this _planet_.”

“You were made to be a plaything,” Karofsky’s voice rattled through Kurt’s bones. “We’re only using you to your intended purpose.” Kurt really felt like he was going to be sick again. His real intended purpose was to be used for _sex_ , and for some reason Kurt had a demented, painstaking haunch that Karofsky knew this. His heart thudded in his chest.

Instinctively, Kurt’s hand gripped around his phone in his pocket.

“Let me go home,” he demanded, locking his jaw tight.

“No,” one of them responded.

“I just want to go home,” he hissed, his ears flat on his head.

“You will do what we tell you to do,” Karofsky told him. Kurt gulped. “Climb the tree again.”

Remaining firm, Kurt crossed his arms, though he wasn’t sure if it was defiantly or protectively. “I’m not going to.”

“You will climb the tree, or we will beat the living shit out of you,” Karofsky pressed, speaking through his teeth. Kurt uncrossed his arms to grasp onto his phone. He could call Blaine. He _should_ call Blaine. But how was he supposed to do that in front of all these people? Wouldn’t that be giving in? Wouldn’t that be losing?

“You can punch me as much as you like, but that won’t change who I am. And I will not be taking any orders from you, thanks,” he could do it sneakily, right here in his pocket. He slid his thumb across the keypad to unlock it, using his own judgment of space and memory to type in his password.

The group around him got closer. “Hummel, you will climb that tree again so we can all have a nice laugh and get on with our day. We don’t care if we have to shed some of your mutant blood in the process.”

Faintly, Kurt heard his phone ding in his pocket, meaning he unlocked his phone correctly. All he had to do was speed dial 1 and drop a hint as to where he was. “I’m not taking any orders from you. And my ‘mutant blood’ you speak of is worth thousands of dollars to the government.” He honed his ears in on his pocket; his excitement thrilled when he could hear it calling. He made sure the volume was low enough that his company wouldn’t be able to hear it without hypersensitive hearing.

 _‘…Hello_?’ came Blaine’s muted voice from deep in his pocket.

“Listen, Hummel,” Kurt was suddenly pressed up against the door to his car by a very angry Karofsky. His face was inches away from Kurt’s and unnerving in more ways than one. “Do as we say or we will make your life a living fucking hell.”

 _You already do_ , Kurt thought brutally.

‘ _Kurt?!_ ’ Kurt’s ears twitched to Blaine in his pocket. ‘ _Kurt, where are you_?!’

His pulse was throbbing high in his throat and voice a tad bit louder than it was before. He angled his phone so that the microphone was toward the top of his pocket. “Just let me go into my car. There are too many people in the parking lot to do this right now.”

“You think any of these people would actually help you?” Kush brought up.

“I’m pretty sure they’re cheering us on,” Thorn added.

‘ _I’m coming_ ,’ his pocket replied hurriedly. Kurt swallowed and mentally scolded Blaine to move faster.

Karofsky’s face was still close, but Kurt denied him eye contact. “That’s a pretty jacket you got on.” He was thumbing the lapel on Kurt’s Zara coat. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that, would you?”

Kurt’s eyes went wide and the breath left his lungs. “Leave the coat out of this,” he said, even though he honestly just wanted to get Karofsky’s hands off of him-

“What about the car, huh?” Kush tempted. “It’d be a sure shame if someone keyed it, wouldn’t it?”

 _He had just waxed it_. Kurt bit onto his tongue. _Dammit, Blaine, hurry up_.

“So, Kitty-Cat, you rethinking climbing that tree yet?” Karofsky seemed to have gotten even closer to Kurt’s face. Kurt determinedly turned his face to the side, wrenching his eyes shut. “For your own sake, I’d consider doing what I tell you to do.” Mistakenly, Kurt’s eyes flashed to his. The fear settled bone-deep under Kurt’s skin.

“ _Hey_ ,” Kurt’s breathing caught in his throat at the voice. “What the hell are you doing?! Drop him!”

The three jocks turned their attention to Blaine, who suddenly looked much smaller than Kurt remembered. They laughed. “Who’s this faggot?” one of them asked.

“Do you or do you not see the uniform I am wearing? Lay off,” Blaine threatened boldly, no fear in his system.

The fists holding Kurt against his car were gone. “I don’t see what a fag-”

“This uniform means that I have a pact with the skirts you guys are constantly trying to look up,” Blaine had his arms crossed over the WMHS over his chest. “I’m the guy those girls consult before dating or sleeping with anyone. You guys already knew that. Leave now and maybe I won’t mention how you’re not worth it to them.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Thorn raged, pressing forward into Blaine’s territory.

Blaine, not threatened in the slightest, held his ground. “Do I need to explain to you how my relationship with my cheer mates work? They value every piece of advice I give.”

The three boys scowled hard, pointing their fingers and grunting angrily without actually responding coherently. Blaine smiled widely at them.

“Fuck, guys, let’s go,” Karofsky settled on huffing sulkily. He turned back to Kurt, who was still pressed up against his car. “This isn’t over, Pussy.”

“I think it is,” Blaine called after him calmly as he skulked away.

Once the jocks were gone, Blaine turned to Kurt and his smile instantly faltered. Kurt’s anxiety returned. “Are you okay?” Blaine asked, his stupid eyes stupidly wide on his stupid face.

“I’m fine,” he stupidly said too quickly.

Nodding, Blaine gave him a hard look that Kurt didn’t allow himself to classify. He opened his car door, aiming on simply leaving, but then Blaine had his hand on the door. “Wait, Kurt,” Kurt swallowed and bit onto his tongue harshly. “Thank you for calling me.” His eyes were hopeful and sincere and staring straight into Kurt’s soul and Kurt could oddly feel himself growling.

“ _Fuck_ , Blaine, get in,” he snapped loudly. He shoved his key into the ignition.

“I-… what?”

“I said ‘ _get in_ ’,” Kurt slammed his door in Blaine’s face. When Blaine didn’t move, Kurt exasperatedly motioned to the seat next to him, wondering himself what the hell he was doing. As soon as this caught Blaine’s attention, he was around the car and in that seat in record timing. He knew he was too anxious to sleep right now, anyway, he tried to tell himself.

Kurt set off into driving and trying to not think at the same time. This proved a rather difficult task as Blaine was fidgety and Kurt could feel his every movement, not to mention Kurt could _smell_ the boy’s nervousness and it was doing nothing to control his own. At one point, Blaine started singing along to whatever song was on the radio, but Kurt ended that with a glare. The drive after that was awkward and quiet and Kurt’s tail wouldn’t stop tapping against his leg no matter how he tried to soothe it.

They pulled up to the Lima Bean after a drive that felt far too long for its short distance from the school. He didn’t wait for Blaine to catch up as he went into the building, and he didn’t give him any evidence that he actually remembered Blaine was there at all when they stood in the long line together. When it came time to order, Kurt got a hot chocolate, knowing coffee would only keep his nap further away from him, and left to sit at his usual booth in the back corner of the shop.

Eventually, Blaine took the seat across from him. Kurt was busy inspecting the cardboard insulator on his cup. The silence ebbed on for much longer than Kurt intended, and he was certain that neither of them had even touched their drinks during it.

The silence had to stop. Kurt had a reason for bringing Blaine here, which, okay he honestly didn’t know what that was, but he knew that there was one. He flashed his eyes up to Blaine’s and smirked to himself when Blaine flinched, thinking that he had only just got caught staring when Kurt had known his eyes were on him the entire time. “Why are you so interested in me?” he asked sharply, point-blank.

Blaine floundered, fumbling with the lid to his own coffee. “I- I just-… I don’t know. It’s not that I’m interested- well, I mean, yeah, but- oh crap.” He put his hands over his face and tried to start over. Kurt scrutinized him when he reached a hand across the table; not touching, but alluding to trying to comfort him. “Look, if you’re worried or insecure, this has nothing to do with your ears or-or your tail, okay? I would be just as interested in helping you without them as I am now.”

Lips pursed, Kurt nodded once despite not believing a word of it.

“Kurt, you don’t deserve to be hurt,” Blaine pursued, his hand tapping against the table lightly in emphasis. “No one does. You should have someone to help you.”

“And that person should be you?” Kurt schooled his expression cold.

“I would love to be that person,” Blaine agreed softly. “But more importantly… it’d be nice to have a friend.”

“You have tons of friends.”

“I wasn’t talking about myself, Kurt.”

Kurt’s eyes rolled in his head. It was getting harder to not yell. Leaning against the cushion behind him, Kurt crossed his legs. “I’m not some charity case.”

“And I’m not trying to make it one,” Blaine defended, his hand still reaching out. “Look, I’m just… drawn to you, okay? I can’t… I can’t explain it.”

 _And it has nothing to do with the tail,_ Kurt thought dubiously. Neither of them said anything for a while, and Kurt noticed Blaine’s scent was getting stronger. He furrowed his brows and pondered it for a moment.

“Is- is that Zara?” Blaine asked, pulling Kurt out of his thoughts. The scent was definitely stronger than it was before. Blaine clarified at Kurt’s confusion. “Your coat.”

“Oh,” he traced his fingers along the cuff of his sleeve now in his lap. “Yeah, I um… I did some of the embroidery work to the lapel and messed around with the button style and other stuff myself, though.”

Blaine’s thick eyebrows lifted. “You sew?”

“It’s kind of a necessity when department stores don’t account for tails,” he stated bluntly. He only caught himself afterwards, when Blaine was already in the middle of his sentence.

“Well it looks fantastic. It’s ridiculous that I’m forced to wear polyester five days a week here.”

Blaine’s scent was getting almost unbearable, and it was setting Kurt on edge with mixed signals, because for some reason it smelled different than before. Still, Kurt continued. “I was tempted to petition to get that rule abolished last year simply because they’re such an eyesore, but the heterosexual male population would probably have me even more lynched than I already am.”

“I understand coming into school on game days like this, but this ‘5 days a week’ rule is just ridiculous.”

“Sue Sylvester is a nutcase when it comes to showing off her work. Last year, she-” It suddenly hit Kurt just what was happening here. He felt even more unnerved and angry than before because of it; he could feel his tail starting to puff in distrust. “Don’t you have Cheerio practice?” He spat rudely.

Blaine fell back at the change of attitude, his smell faltering with it. “I don’t really have to be there until 3:30.” He sat forward again, noticing his mistake. He fell back into his earlier ease, and his scent started filling back up, “I was told that Cheerio practices this time of year were hardcore, but five-hour practices don’t even seem _legal_ -”

“What are you doing?” Kurt asked flatly, not allowing Blaine to continue the subject.

“What?” Blaine’s eyebrows came together. “Having a conversation?”

“Yeah, that,” Kurt’s hands wrapped around his drink. “Stop.”

Blaine’s face contorted into several different shapes. Finally, he settled on confused. “…Why?”

“Because you’re trying to buy your way into friendship by talking about clothes and fashion and judging people,” Kurt confronted. He sat forward in his seat. “How did you even know- _my father told you about that, didn’t he_ ,” Kurt felt affronted that his own father would sell him out to someone he didn’t even know.

“Kurt, no, stop- your dad didn’t say any of that,” Blaine’s hand was across the table again and Kurt fought the urge to hiss. “Okay, well he did mention the fashion thing, but it really doesn’t take a genius to guess that with how amazingly you dress yourself.”

A fresh wave of the scent hit Kurt’s nostrils and he actually did growl this time, only to stifle it with his hand. “ _And can you stop it with the goddamn smell_?!”

Blaine’s eyes went wide and he pulled back again. “Uh- I don’t know… I can’t stop making myself-”

 _“Yes you can, I know you can because you’ve been controlling it this entire time!_ ”

“What?” Blaine’s face scrunched up tightly. “I honestly don’t even-”

“Just stop!”

Mouth snapping shut, Blaine fiddled with his lid again. He looked insecure, as if he was actually trying not to make a smell, with one hand under the table and the other playing with the lid to his coffee again. His scent was noticeably more subdued. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t doing it on purpose, but this was definitely something new to Kurt. He’s noticed other people’s scents wavering, but never as severe as Blaine’s was right now.

Trying to find his words, Blaine frowned into the table. “That’s not- I mean, whatever you smell on me has nothing to do with like, my cologne or anything, right? Because I’ve changed it like, twenty times since I’ve met you.”

Kurt couldn’t help it; he snorted. Blaine’s face flipped up to him at the sound. “No- _no_ , Blaine. I’ve- I’ve actually noticed that, though.”

“Oh,” Blaine’s shoulders dropped. “So it’s just… _me_ that you smell?”

“Yes, and it’s been driving me crazy for weeks,” he admitted.

“And I smell… bad?” he questioned worriedly. “Like, I don’t need to change body soaps or- or shower more or something?”

Kurt felt like laughing at how hung up he was on this. “You don’t have _body odor_ , Blaine. It’s-” he tried to find the words to describe it. “You know how some smells make you feel… happy or sad? I guess it’s like that.”

Blinking, Blaine tried his best to reason. “And I make you feel bad?”

“No, you gave me a bad _feeling_ ; there’s a difference,” he explained. He took the first sip of his hot chocolate, which was starting to go cold. Jackie’s words echoed in his head and made a hitch in his breathing.

Blaine’s self-consciousness felt very familiar to Kurt, as all self-consciousness was. “…Why do I smell like that to you?” Kurt’s lungs filled with air. He didn’t have an answer. “Um, I’ll-” Blaine fumbled his hands and made to stand up. “I should get going.”

“Blaine,” Kurt called after him. He let out a deep sigh. “Come here tomorrow morning before school. We can get coffee together.”

“No, I-I wouldn’t want to- to impose or anything-”

 _As if you already haven’t done that enough_. “Blaine,” He cut him off from rambling.

Slowly, Blaine’s face lit up. “Uh, yeah,” he nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I can- before school? I can do that.” The scent was obviously affiliated with his mood, because it was pouring out of him now and- _god, was he going to purr again?! Where is that coming from?!_

He stood up and took his still-full cup with him. “Come on, I’ll drive you back.”

_o-O-o_


	5. Chapter 5

_o-O-o_

The next morning Blaine was already waiting for him in the same booth. Naturally, Kurt had gone through another panic that morning, debating if what he was doing was the right thing or not. In the end, his natural curiosity got the better of him. He had to figure out Blaine, and what his scent, specifically, was. Besides, there hasn’t been a physical threat yet, and he’s proven that he’s useful for keeping Karofsky (Kurt shivered at the name; he tried not to think about him as much as he could) at bay.

Blaine’s nerves were pungent in the air from the moment Kurt walked into the shop. Kurt wondered how long he has been sitting there, stewing in a pile of his own stress. It made Kurt’s tail twitch. He got his Nonfat Mocha and seated himself across from Blaine, trying to stifle a laugh when he noticed Blaine was sporting yet another new cologne.

Upon Kurt’s arrival, Blaine’s face broke out into a wide smile. “Hi!” he said with his voice overtly bright to hide his nerves.

Kurt pretended not to notice. “Please do not tell me you are actually this alive at this hour.”

“I live in a household where we weren’t allowed to sleep past nine on the weekends growing up,” Blaine explained as if it were an excuse.

“That’s sickening. You couldn’t pay me to wake up that early if I didn’t have to,” Kurt deadpanned, and Blaine actually laughed. Kurt’s ears perked. In actuality, Kurt woke up twenty minutes early today to ensure that he and Blaine could sit and drink for a while. “Where’d you go to school before this?” Kurt prompted, trying to steer the conversation himself before Blaine could. He also needed to get Blaine’s laugh out of his head. He never had many people actually laugh at his quips before.

“Dalton Academy,” Blaine seemed to get more comfortable in his seat now that they were talking. Kurt took the opportunity to sniff the air. “It’s an all-boys private school in Westerville. I went from one uniform to the next. The blazers were a lot nicer than what I’m wearing now. They didn’t breathe well, though.”

The smell still set Kurt on the edge, but on the edge of what? It kept him attentive, nonetheless. “Why did you transfer mid-semester?”

“One of the reasons was because Dalton kind of… suppressed me?” Blaine said it as more of a question, looking for the right word. “Everyone was great there, but it was kind of all about fitting in. The glee club there rocked, though. The Warblers-”

“Glee club?!” Kurt was sitting straight in his chair and forgetting about what he was supposed to be doing, appalled. “You were in glee club?!”

He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing. “I’m in the glee club here, too-”

Kurt’s jaw dropped. “ _No_.”

Blaine frowned. “What’s wrong with glee club?”

“ _Rachel Berry_ ,” was all Kurt had to say before Blaine broke down into a giggle. “She sets me on edge more than you do,” he didn’t mean to say.

He stopped giggling. “Wait, does she smell…?”

“Oh god no, it’s not her scent,” Kurt clarified. “It’s just her. Yeah, she can sing but her speaking voice is murder, and does she have to be so loud all of the time? It’s not even her voice that’s loud, it’s just _her_ ; _she’s_ loud in general with her personality.”

Blaine was laughing at him again. “She is kind of a… _loud_ person-”

“And _egotistical_ -”

“And egotistical,” Blaine agreed. “But, you know. She has a passion and she tries to bring other people’s passion out too.”

Grumbling, Kurt say back in his seat. “I just wish she did that a little more quietly for those of us with sensitive ears.”

“Understandable,” Blaine nodded.

Subconsciously this time, Kurt took another sniff and was caught off guard. So the scent set him off, but it was also… calming? It’s never been calming before- that was probably a red herring. “So you said that was _one_ of the reasons?” Kurt fished.

“Yeah, well, the real reason was actually because I was baited by Santana, Brittany and Quinn to help out the Cheerios.”

Kurt choked on his drink. “You knew the Unholy Trinity before moving here?!” he coughed.

“I uhh, I’ve lived here my whole life, and Quinn and Santana have always been my neighbors, so yeah,” he nodded unsurely. “We were all childhood friends, and then Brittany came along however-many years ago. My parents sent me to the neighboring school district at first because it’s a better school system, but then my attack happened and I transferred to live on campus in the Dalton dorms. We kept in contact every now and again, and then suddenly all three of them were in my dorm room threatening to burn hair gel if I didn’t help them out, so.”

“Wait, why did they need you on the Cheerios? There’s already too many members; Sue’s trying to cut back,” Kurt asked, actually interested in the story and momentarily forgetting about his mission.

Rolling his eyes, Blaine waved his hand nonchalantly, “Sue wanted to get a whole bunch of guys to join the Cheerios; she said that they were completely lacking the muscles needed to do some dangerous flip and they already sent one girl to the hospital. The qualifications to be on the team if you were male stated that you had to be gay.”

“What? Why?”

“Apparently we have ‘more estrogen’, which it complete nonsense, not to mention offensive. Also something about getting an eyeful of their ‘baby ovens’ and not caring? I don’t know? And yes, ‘baby ovens’ was the actual phrasing,” Blaine took a long sip from his coffee. “And I’m not sure you’re familiar with the gay-to-straight ratio in Lima, Ohio, but we are suffering on that term. Apparently, I’m the only gay kid anyone on the team knew.”

“I’m gay,” Kurt blurted.

“I- really?”

Kurt did a double-take. “That’s not exactly a secret.”

“I didn’t really want to assume,” Blaine elucidated a little too quickly. “You never, you know. Said anything.” Kurt bit the inside of his mouth; he was specifically engineered to be gay, but there was no way Blaine would have known that. When you share half of your DNA with a cat, something as normal as being gay was hardly worth giving a second glance at. The bigots that call him ‘abnormal’ for his sexuality were hardly up to par. Clearing his throat, Blaine continued. “But I sincerely doubt you’d be willing to throw on a track suit and cheer motivation at a lifeless crowd to represent your hometown school, regardless.”

Sardonically, Kurt took a sip of his drink in honor of it, “And for that you’d be correct.”

Chuckling, Blaine looked down at his phone and gasped. “Shit, I’m going to be late.”

“We’ve got time,” Kurt sputtered urgently before Blaine stood up; he didn’t finish getting a read on the smell yet.

Blaine ducked his head shyly. “I, um, I actually have to walk, so.”

“You walk to school?”

He shrugged. “It’s only a fifteen minute walk, and I kind of enjoy it. Saves gas money.”

Kurt was calmly panicking. He spent too much time actually talking, and now he would have to meet up with Blaine some other time. Or… “I have a car.”

“You- uh,” Blaine frowned, but he sat back in his chair. “Are you sure? You really don’t have to.”

“It’s fine,” Kurt said bluntly. He stole another sniff, but nothing was clearer to him than it was before. It wasn’t calm, per say, but there was something in there that didn’t have a negative connotation that he couldn’t put his finger on. “We’ve got five minutes.”

Unsure, Blaine nodded his head. And fumbled with his coffee. His nerves returned. “Look, you-” his honey eyes went wide with worry and he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Oh, god, is my cologne too strong? Is that why you keep smelling me?” Mortified, Kurt’s breathing caught on itself. “I just- I wanted to help you be more comfortable by masking my smell, but I probably only making it worse putting so much on. Do you have a headache from it? Oh god, I’m so sorry-”

“ _Blaine_!” Kurt hissed at him to stop the rambling. His face felt hot. “No, you have the perfect amount of cologne on, stop worrying. I’m not smelling that.”

“So it’s my smell then? Should I have put more on? Because I can-”

“Blaine, just stop,” Kurt kept his gaze focused on the table and refused to look anywhere else with how red his face was getting. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Although it should be mentioned that no matter how much cologne you put on, I’d still be able to smell you underneath it, so you really don’t have to even think about me when you put it on in the morning.”

Swallowing, Kurt noticed Blaine rubbing his hands nervously over his red pants. “Oh.”

Taking a deep breath, Kurt cleared his throat. “I’m just-… I’m trying to figure out what exactly you… are. Or, what your smell is.” The familiar guilt he felt low in his stomach returned. “This is really creepy; I’m sorry.”

“No- no, it’s not,” Blaine denied sweetly. “That’s… completely understandable. I should have guessed that. I’m just concerned about… making you uncomfortable.” Kurt finally looked up into those big eyes of his, and something within him quieted. Blaine had his hand across the table again. “If there is anything that I can do to make you more comfortable, I promise you that you can just tell me. That would be really helpful.”

_Well, what would be really helpful is if you allowed me to just smell you up close for a good ten minutes while I figure this out, but there’s no way in hell that’s happening._

So he nodded and gave a small smile, glad that his face was returning to a normal temperature. “Let’s um… we should go now.”

The car ride was awkward after their last conversation, but thankfully it still felt much shorter than yesterday’s. They walked into the school together, but then the ever-pressing question became inevitable to ask.

“Can I, uh, walk you to class?” Blaine hesitated, looking hopeful.

Sighing, Kurt weighed his options. The smell was still a mystery that needed to be tackled, but he doubted the answer would come to him in the middle of a crowded hallway. “If I say no, will you get one of your female cronies to do it anyway?”

Something in Blaine’s expression fell. “I-I already told them to lay off,” he admitted, and Kurt felt shameful. He looked pained to say it, but Blaine reasoned, “Kurt, you have to know that they’re not going to leave you alone at this rate.”

“Well it’s none of your business,” Kurt snapped crudely.

Retreating, Blaine frowned. “It should be everyone’s business to help other people from those kinds of dangers.” The guilt rushed in again, and Kurt bit his lip. “Besides,” Blaine specified quietly, “I wasn’t offering it for that reason.”

And because Kurt didn’t have an argument against that, they walked to class together.

Unlike with the other Cheerios, their walk wasn’t as silent as it was awkward. Blaine complimented Kurt on his boots, and Kurt was taken aback at how weird it was to have a conversation with someone his own age that didn’t require screaming or resentful sarcasm. It was different; talking to someone and almost enjoying it. He walked straight past his homeroom on accident.

“Oh, my homeroom-” he said as it dawned on him, accidentally turning too fast right into Blaine’s shoulder. This close, the scent was strong and _clear_.

_Oh_.

At first, Blaine didn’t notice when Kurt froze. “Right, I didn’t even realize that we- um,” he took a step back and furrowed his eyebrows at Kurt’s stature. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were… uh-” he started to go pink in the cheeks when Kurt just stared at him, eyes wide and fearful. When Kurt didn’t respond, he ducked his head, self-conscious about what had set Kurt off. “I should- let you get to class.” He started to walk away before adding hopefully, “I’ll see you later? Would that be okay?”

Dumbstruck, Kurt just nodded and watched as the back of Blaine’s head as it vanished into the crowd of wandering peers. His scent lingered so thick in Kurt’s nostrils it was as if he was still right under Kurt’s nose. The feeling behind it was now painstakingly obvious.

_Safe._

_o-O-o_

Kurt showed up to his last detention that night ten minutes early on accident. The discovery of Blaine’s scent had him twitchy all day. He had seen the Cheerio five more times since, and he’s fairly sure he’s proven himself to be the biggest freak in the universe to him by now. There was significantly less talking on Kurt’s part and more time blushing and trying to hide his sniffling. He knew that Blaine caught onto his weird behavior, but the boy was far too nice to say anything about noticing it.

His nap proved almost pointless with how many times he found himself waking up from his sleep to pondering more about the smell. If Blaine smelled safe, why was he so afraid of it? Why does the smell still put him on edge? And why did it smell so different from Burt’s safety?

Curiosity led him to his decision. He would have to ask Blaine to let him smell him more closely. His desire to know was consuming him, as it often did when he got too curious. And Kurt fucking hated that damn idiom that popped into his head every time he used that word.

Serving his detentions for Coach Sylvester pretty much consisted of showing his face to her and then going home, and he has yet to truly understand why exactly that was.  His biggest theory was that she thought that he didn’t deserve a detention if the other boys didn’t get one too. His other argument was that she was just crazy.

Both seemed valid.

He could still smell Blaine from all the way across the field even when his scent was intermingling with the other girls’. They were all stretching and talking amongst themselves when Kurt arrived, and ten minutes later when Sue blew the whistle teams of them started rolling up mats and bringing in props. His eyes were trained on Blaine as the boy rounded up what looked like several large confetti guns while talking animatedly to Lisa Stone. Luckily, they were trailing behind.

As quietly as possible, Kurt walked up to them. He tapped Blaine on the shoulder during what he hoped was a break in the conversation. Blaine’s face broke out into a grin when he saw Kurt. “Kurt!” Blaine exclaimed, far too loudly for Kurt’s liking. Half of the girls turned to watch them.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Blaine,” Lisa called out in farewell, and Kurt immediately distrusted whatever smile she was giving him.

“Bye, Lisa!” Blaine waved after her. “Hi, Kurt, what-”

“Are you doing anything?” Kurt cut in, trying to not sound desperate. “Like, right now?”

Tilting his head in surprise, Blaine fumbled for words. “Um, no, I don’t think I’m- Is something wrong?”

Huffing humorlessly, Kurt beseeched him.

“Yeah, no, that’s fine, let me um…” he gestured to the two large guns under his arm. “Let me just put these somewhere and get changed.”

Kurt waited outside of the building by the locker rooms for him to get ready, boring a hole into his lip with his worrying teeth. He nodded to Coach Sylvester’s ‘ _Isn’t this your last day here, Kurtie-Cat_?’ as she walked by, but spent the other ten minutes trying to calm himself down.

When Blaine returned, he was in a dark patterned cardigan and form-fitting jeans that rolled up above the ankle.  He was also very hurried when he asked, “What was it you needed?”

“ _Not here_ ,” Kurt scolded under his breath. There was no way Kurt was going to do this on school grounds where other students could be walking by. He couldn’t do it _anywhere_ where people would be walking by. He needed somewhere private.

He could already smell Blaine from a distance, and it was now certain that the smell was safe, but it was nowhere near as clear as Kurt needed it to be and Kurt was still _confused_. He led Blaine to his car, rationalizing to himself that there really wasn’t a better place to do this. He drove to his home.

If Blaine was weirded out by Kurt bringing him to his house, he didn’t mention it. Kurt was glad. He didn’t need anything else to be added to the list of things Blaine was going to be weirded out by Kurt for today. He should offer Blaine a drink-

Kurt tensed up as soon as Blaine shut the door. _Oh fuck, not this_ , Kurt thought to himself as a certain anger lit in him. Sometimes, Kurt got irrationally territorial about his home. Countless times has he hissed at his neighbor’s fat, stupid cat for even stepping foot on his property. It was mainly felines that he had a problem with, though there were plenty of humans and rodents and also every mutt that has ever walked along the sidewalk, too; he wasn’t expecting Blaine to have this effect on him. “ _Don’t_ ,” he found himself hissing as Blaine harmlessly started to remove his shoes; the thought of Blaine leaving his scent anywhere in any way made Kurt’s skin crawl.

“Um,” Blaine hesitated. “You don’t want me to take off my shoes?”

“I-” _Good job, genius, you want him to track dirt all throughout the house?_ “No, you should- go ahead. Just don’t-” he really didn’t have a better way to say this, “touch anything.”

He grimaced to himself as he said it; he could tell Blaine was thoroughly confused and if he couldn’t get the boy off his tail before, today would definitely do it. Always polite, Blaine only replied, “Okay,” and slipped off his shoes.

As soon as Kurt had his own boots off (and gave himself a stern mental scolding) he forced himself to lead Blaine into the living room. “Would you- like something to drink?”

“No thank you; I’m fine,” Kurt nodded and wiped his nervous hands against his pants, fraught for something else to help him stall.

“Why don’t you, uh-” _Goddammit Kurt, offer him a seat on the freaking couch; it is not that hard_. “You can take a seat on the couch.” Nodding politely, Blaine went to sit. “ _Not there_!” Kurt freaked, almost actually hissing when Blaine came close to sitting in _his_ seat; the seat he always sat in when he and his father were watching television.

Blaine looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. Kurt slapped himself in the face and groaned in embarrassment. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry for how I’m acting,” he apologized in humiliation. “Having you in this house was a lot more stressful than I thought it would be. Just… sit on the other side of the couch.”

“It’s perfectly fine, Kurt,” Blaine’s voice was concerned in a way that only made Kurt hate himself more. He slid over to the opposite end, looking up at him with pinched eyebrows. “Is it my smell again?”

Sitting in the seat he had forced Blaine to abandon, Kurt tapped his fingers against his face repetitively. “Yeah. Yeah, that is definitely… a huge factor.”

The distance between them was driving Kurt insane. Blaine’s scent was making his nose twitch and he needed to- to get closer and smell it more, or maybe to back up and get away from it so it wasn’t so strong or something. Anything but this. Blaine’s voice made him flinch. “Are you okay, Kurt?”

“I-” He swallowed down a large lump in his throat and tried to be as calm as he could when he said, “I’m going to ask you the most ridiculous and- and insanely invasive question that’s probably going to make you never want to be near me again.”

“Kurt,” Blaine said seriously, “You can ask me anything. I promise I really don’t mind.”

His sincerity only added to Kurt’s mortification. Kurt shielded his face with his hands and dropped his voice into a whisper, despite there being no one else in the house to overhear, as his dad was helping a neighbor repair a leaking gas tank.

“C-Can I smell you?”

Blaine took a horrifically slow second to process Kurt’s question, and when he spoke, it was too loud and too fast. “ _Yeah_ , of course, Kurt,” he assured. “I totally get it- that’s something that you need to-”

“ _No_ , Blaine,” Kurt enunciated slowly. “I mean, can I-” his heart stopped as he forced himself to slide over on the couch until he was right next to Blaine, “ _smell_ you.”

“O-Oh,” Blaine breathed, the sudden distance change catching him off guard. Kurt watched as Blaine’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down on his throat. “That- That’s fine. I really don’t m-… mind…”

This close, Kurt couldn’t help himself from already focusing in on where he knew Blaine’s scent harbored the strongest: the jugular vein. He took an accidental breath, inhaling some of that clear, safe scent. Involuntarily, Kurt’s tail waved behind him. He needed to be closer. Tentatively, Kurt leaned his nose into the crook of Blaine’s shoulder, making sure there was no actual contact between them. Blaine remained stock-still, which Kurt was grateful for. He took two long drags of the smell, and proximately felt his eyelids droop closed as some of the tension left his body.

He felt completely safe here. The more he breathed it in, the more he relaxed into Blaine’s side. There was a humming under his skin that itched for him to take in more. He noticed the smell getting stronger even though he had not moved an inch, and suddenly understood that Blaine was unknowingly offering up his scent to him.

This scent was telling Kurt to trust its owner. The discovery would have made him flutter into anxiety if he was not so close to Blaine, but instead he found himself able to think clearly.

It was obvious that Kurt’s biggest issue was trust, so when Blaine’s scent surprised him so suddenly with its aromatic vibrancy demanding it from him, he freaked out. It should be freaking him out right now, if he were thinking with his Human.

But he was safe here, with his nose pressed under Blaine’s jaw. He now knew that the ‘on-edge’ feeling came from his Cat telling him he should be sitting closer to Blaine, but his Human was refuting that because getting closer to someone, either physically or emotionally, was not something he was okay with. But his Cat was completely okay with him pressing his nose right up against Blaine’s skin. His Cat was okay with Kurt resituating himself next to Blaine so that he was on his knees and cradling Blaine’s head with just his fingertips to guide it back so that it exposed more skin.

A slightly different scent wafted strong and sudden. Kurt wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore; all that he knew was that Blaine was dirty with sweat from practice and needed to be cleaned. The sweat was savory and salty on his tongue. He had followed the sweat downward surely, cleaning away some new, foreign substance that shouldn’t be on skin. Blaine’s whine was low, pretty, distraught and _loud_ into the silent room.

“K- _Kurt_ -” Kurt could feel how completely stiff Blaine was under him, how nervous he was and even-

The different scent had an origin on Blaine’s body, and it was definitely not on the northern half. _Oh god, that scent- He needed to- he needed to…_

Blaine’s breathing hitched and choked. “F- _Kurt_ \- I-” And then his hand wrapped around Kurt’s wrist, looking for something to hold onto-

And Kurt hissed.

The ears atop of Kurt’s head lifted in time with his Human coming back to him.

“Shit,” he cursed quietly, just as the humiliation washed over him. “Oh my god.” The close distance between him and Blaine was no longer comforting with the rush of rationality. He was just licking him and- _oh god, what has he done? What has he-_

The scrambling across the couch to get away only brought another disgustingly real fact that completely topped his mortification. He was practically _tenting_ in his pants right here on his father’s couch after _mauling_ a boy. He grabbed the afghan from the back of the couch and threw it onto his lap before he realized that that probably only made it more obvious.

“Hey- Kurt,” Blaine started forward toward him, and Kurt gasped loudly at the mark on his neck.

It seems that the _strange substance_ Kurt had so kindly licked off of Blaine’s neck was _concealer_ used to cover up the remnants of the last time Kurt had mauled him. The knowledge of what it was, how _he_ was the one who made it, stirred up a truck-load of things in Kurt’s stomach and _below_ his stomach-

“You need to leave,” Kurt said quickly, because Blaine’s scent and his bright honey eyes so filled with worry and dilated pupils were seriously dangerous to him, wide and innocent and open and paired with the wafts of smell that was currently driving Kurt mad…

“Kurt, it’s okay- just calm down-”

“How can you _seriously_ tell me to calm down after what I just-” Kurt cut himself off, the humiliation too much for him to handle. “You should just leave and never, _ever_ -”

 “Hey, hey, hey,” Blaine said quickly and calmly, his hand floating over Kurt’s, still not touching. “Look at me,” he ordered, and Kurt was in no place to do anything but succumb to it. Blaine’s eyes were wide, and so, so dilated. “If you want me to leave, then I will, but please let me say something first. I understand that this is all really, really confusing for you. And I’m not… I’m not weirded out, okay?”

“How in the hell are you not weirded out?!” Kurt shrieked. “I just- I just-”

Blaine shushed him gently, and Kurt could feel his hand burning under the ghost of Blaine’s palms. He shifted the afghan around in his lap nervously. “Kurt, you don’t have to be nervous, okay?” Kurt didn’t dare speak. Blaine must have found reassurance in his face somehow, because he continued, albeit wearily, “I’m willing to give you the space you need, but you don’t need to freak out about any of this.”

Silence fell for a brief moment in which Kurt expected Blaine to continue. Instead, he was met with stupidly hopeful, earnest eyes. “I… don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” Kurt admitted weakly.

“Kurt, this is all new for you, right?” Kurt nodded slowly. “I understand that you don’t know what you’re doing. And it’d be wrong of me to judge you for it.”

Kurt was still clueless as to what Blaine was trying to say.

More moments of silence passed, made uncomfortable by the way that Kurt was still as hard as he had been before, if not more. He doubted it would go away on its own at this point. “So, do you… um…” Blaine finally spoke, losing a bit of the confidence he had gained. “Did you figure anything out? From my smell?”

Kurt’s heart thumped in his chest. “Pending,” he said too quickly. _Oh my god, it’s starting to hurt_. Kurt felt like disappearing on the spot. He had to- do something, _but how can he do anything with Blaine right there?_

“That’s- fine,” Blaine said sheepishly, starting to go a little pink in the face as well. “You can take as long as you need, I really don’t-”

“Blaine, you really have to go.”

Blaine’s face dropped as if Kurt had slapped it. He looked like a puppy who had just been stricken by its owner for the first time, and Kurt felt something tighten around his heart at the sight. “O-oh. Yeah, I’ll…”

_Kurt Hummel you are an asshole._

“Goddammit, Blaine, not like- not like that. I mean- I mean-” _Oh fuck, real slick Hummel. Go ahead, tell him all about your boner._ “I mean that I-I-” But Blaine’s hurt and confused eyes were making this the hardest thing Kurt’s ever had to say. The words got chopped up and disoriented in his head and on his tongue.

“Kurt, are you okay?” Blaine prompted, completely oblivious and innocent and worrisome and Kurt snapped.

“ _You have to be_ blind _to not notice the afghan strategically placed in my lap right now_.”

Blaine flinched backwards, confused at first until the realization finally dawned on him like a light switch. His eyes immediately flickered down to Kurt’s lap, back up to Kurt’s positively tomato-red face, then back down to his lap for a look that lasted way too long. “O- _oh_ ,” The rush of aroma hit Kurt’s senses and the urge to-

“Stop it!” he hissed hysterically, smacking Blaine’s shoulder.

Falling backwards, Blaine finally came to. “Sh- I- What do I- I’m _sorry_ -” he babbled all at once helplessly, but his eyes hit Kurt again and a rush of _something_ fired in his belly.

“You’re not _helping_ ,” Kurt cried. He was so close. He was so close that the slightest movement would probably bring him right over the edge, and that was something he definitely, definitely wouldn’t ever be able to let himself live down.

“Right- I-”

“Just go!”

“Y-”

“ _Go_!”

As Blaine finally scrambled to his feet, a noise echoed out in the house that made them both freeze. The front door had opened, and Burt was walking down the hallway. His nonchalant footsteps came to an abrupt halt when he noticed both boys in his living room.

The silence was deafening. It seemed as if even the cars on the road outside had decided to all simultaneously tiptoe around Kurt’s street so as to not disturb the brittle tension currently residing in the Hummel living room.

Burt’s eyebrows practically disappeared underneath his old company baseball hat. “Blaine,” he nodded to him, his face unreadable except for the slight raise to his eyebrows.

“H-Hi, Mr. Hum-”

“Blaine was just leaving.” Kurt supplied too quickly. Blaine was a babbler. Kurt didn’t trust it.

“Is he?” The quirk of Burt’s eyebrows became more pronounced. “Well, make sure you drive him home safely. It’s kind of cold outside tonight.”

_Drive him_. Kurt had to _drive him home_. Now, of all times. If a comet decided to strike the Earth at this exact moment, Kurt would gladly volunteer his home to be the point of collision. He was so _close_ , though, and uncomfortable- he couldn’t just- he had to-

“I’ll… be right back,” Kurt excused himself, refusing to look at anyone. He took the afghan with him, hoping it would be less conspicuous than it definitely was, and darted from the room as calmly as he could.

He practically fell down the steps to his room, crashing on top of his bed, desperate for his body to stop thrumming. Geeze, how do people usually do this? _Dead puppies. Live puppies. A live dog rolling around on his bed._ The thought made his hackles rise; perhaps it was working. He’ll need to wash his bed sheets, regardless. The memory of Blaine’s scent was still lingering; he tried not to realize that the scent probably wasn’t even a memory and was probably going to be stuck to these clothes for _days_. He whimpered to himself, his heated face in his clammy palms.

_Oh god, Blaine probably thinks he’s jacking off_. He was going to have to walk back out there and spend fifteen disgustingly long minutes knowing that Blaine knew he had a boner from smelling him. Blaine, who had-

_Blaine who had a charmingly sized hickey on his neck and was currently speaking to his father_. Crumpling himself down into a ball, Kurt groaned. He was a freak. A freak that mauls nice boys and barely contains himself from jerking off about it. The stinging behind his eyes threatened him, but he couldn’t give into it just yet.

He stood himself up and faced the standing mirror in the corner of his room, schooling his expression completely blank. He was going to remain composed for the rest of the night, and not let it consume him until he was alone and under his covers. It took every ounce of his being to drain his emotions numb and walk back up the stairs.

Burt and Blaine were still in the same positions as when he left them, and he didn’t trust himself to say a word, so he strutted past them and began strapping up his boots. Blaine followed behind him, and Kurt wished he would be less fidgety and nervous because it was getting harder to remain expressionless with him wringing his hands and trying to flatten his shellacked hair every two seconds.

Not a word was said during the drive. Kurt pulled into the driveway to Blaine’s house and set the car in park abruptly without uttering a sound or a glance in Blaine’s expression.

“Look, Kurt-”

“Don’t,” Kurt interjected rudely.

“Kurt, I promise you that nothing-” Something in the way Kurt angled his head downward slightly made Blaine stop talking. Eventually, Blaine got out of the car and Kurt drove home.

Burt had heated up the leftover pasta from the night before for them by the time Kurt returned home. Kurt wished he would stop giving him that knowing, fatherly look. “Are you going to tell me just who this kid is any time soon?” He asked as they both sat down at the table.

Jaw clenching, Kurt spat, “You seem to be pretty chummy with him already, just ask him.”

Sighing, Burt jabbed several noodles onto his fork at once. “I will admit that I have spoken to him, and he seems respectively nice as far as I’m concerned and I like that he’s helping you. But I don’t appreciate you bringing him here when the house is empty.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious-”

Kurt slammed his hands down on the table, a lot rougher than he expected to. “You _don’t_ know what happened and you _don’t_ know what I am going through.”

Stunned silent, Burt blinked at his sudden outburst. Feeling sick, Kurt threw the rest of his dinner out and buried himself under his covers for the rest of the night.

_o-O-o_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual abuse warning for this chapter!

_o-O-o_

Kurt’s bout of angst lasted about two weeks. He was back to avoiding Blaine like the plague out of sheer embarrassment. If anything above all else, Blaine was too nice for Kurt; he didn’t deserve being constantly attacked by Kurt’s temperamental inner Cat. He deserved his hierarchy with the girls on the Cheerios, and his reputation couldn’t be spared by Kurt’s socially suicidal stigma. He spat insults at every person that tried to talk to him and sent out angry fumes at people even thinking about standing too close to him.

He rowed with Burt several times about his attitude. Kurt knew that he shouldn’t be yelling at Burt, that none of this was Burt’s fault, but his emotions were fraying more and more every day and his sense of smell was heightening, often making him nauseous. It had turned April, just the start of Spring and the presence of his heat was looming, tinkering on the edge dangerously. Most of his bullies started to calm down, finally lapsing into the moderate-to-below moderate stage of remembering Kurt existed.

_Most_. Karofsky seemed to always be around.

Blaine was almost always hovering around him, never able to get near enough for conversation, but ready to attack if a letterman jacket got too close to pin Kurt down. Several times Kurt had made himself disappear while Blaine was in the middle of ranting at some bully to save himself the embarrassment, not willing to face Blaine for any reason. But then there were the times when Blaine wasn’t around. The thing about Karofsky was that he was no longer using physical harassment as his weapon; he had discovered the tactic of staring Kurt down and getting too close, bringing Kurt into a state of fear to the point of tears without laying a finger on him. He was constantly late for classes, trying to keep himself from getting sick all over the boys’ bathroom.

By the end of the week, Kurt was physically, mentally, emotionally drained of everything he had left in him. He arrived in the locker room extra early and hid himself in a shower before gym class until the whistle screeched and everyone filed out- an idea he had picked up on a few days ago and was frankly angry at himself for not discovering sooner.

Two-Hand-Touch Football. Kurt hated the football lessons. Every student was expected to be on the field at the same time and somehow pull out a half-decent excuse for following the rules. Despite his hatred of the sport, Kurt knew how to play this game: situate himself behind a group of girls in the corner of the field to hide from the teacher. It worked out well.

Until the ball soared through the air at the cluster of girls, making them all cower and disperse from the large rampage of thunderous boys charging after it.

It didn’t matter if Kurt had been fast enough to notice what had happened or not (he had been trying to decide whether Rebecca Nyles’s gym clothes were tacky or original), because Karofsky was aiming for him. The wind gushed out of his lungs upon the full-body impact, and he crunched on the damp, frosty ground underneath Karofsky’s entire weight.

It was a wonder how he didn’t break any bones. He ached all over, and even when Karofsky eventually stood up off of him it felt like he hadn’t moved at all. Kids were circling around him, trying to each get a look at him crumpled in pain on the ground. Kurt tried not to look back up at them. “Alright, back up, back up,” the gym teacher, Coach Troy, was inserting himself to the center of the circle. “Come on, Hummel, that’s why you gotta actually pay attention to what’s happening on the field!”

Stiff neck be damned, Kurt flashed him a glare worthy of murder, having to knowingly hold back the growl he almost sent with it. As if it was _his_ fault Karofsky tackled him. Kurt’s glares have been working well as of late; Coach Troy faltered for a moment.

“Come on, get back up-”

Kurt slapped away the hand reaching out to help him up before it even touched his elbow. The crowd around him stirred excitedly, murmuring ‘ _Ohh’s_ and ‘ _Oh, shit’s_ at Kurt’s quickness and daring. He stood up by himself, weary of the fact that his ankle had twisted pretty badly, but doing his best to not let it be noticed by his peers. “I’m going inside,” was all he said before squeezing his way out of the circle and heading back toward the locker rooms.

He was expecting to be told to get back out on the field, but evidentially his plan to scare the Coach into letting him leave had worked; he made it back to the showers without anyone stopping him.

Plopping down on the bench next to his locker, Kurt studied his ankle. He would be fine; he could tell that it just needed to be stretched and rested. The period was only half over, so he could change, wobble over to the library, and relax until third period. He sighed, massaging his ankle with his fingertips when the door opened. His ears twitched to the sound, wondering which student Troy sent to call him back-

“’You hurt, Pussy?”

The voice shrilled down his spine, spidered through every last cell in his body. He flinched off of the bench. Dave Karofsky was walking toward him, and the only thing he could do was stumble backwards.

“S-stop,” Kurt pleaded feebly. The fact that the locker room was completely void of anyone here to save him was suffocating enough without the feeling of Karofsky’s hand enclosing around his throat as he backed up straight into the wall.

“Stop?” Karofsky repeated, his voice slew as he took one last step and he was just barely pressed up against Kurt. “Stop what?”

The tears were already streaming over Kurt’s face, and he was starting to shake. “ _Please, please stop this, please Karofsky_ -”

“Maybe,” he rumbled, harsher than his sickly words were before, “I’ll understand what you mean if you do what I say.” A broken noise left Kurt’s throat. He didn’t dare look up into Karofsky’s eyes. “Turn around,” he ordered, but Kurt was frozen. Karofsky threw him around so that his face collided with the wall.

The haunted memories started to flash in front of Kurt’s eyes. Memories of musty, freezing cages and rough hands that visited him every night in his dreams as he fought to remind himself of the warm bed he was actually immersed in. “ _Karofsky, plea_ -” Kurt had honestly thought that he would never have another memory of a rough hand on him again to add to his collection. It was as if the past 11 years were an illusion, and he was still the six year old child who had never known the brightness of the sun or the presence of a gentle touch. The hand gripping his tail felt just as big, pinching and massaging at the knot.

He was helpless to the touch. The touch was everything he could focus on, despite how much he tried to shut his brain off. He couldn’t do anything to distract himself, because the touch was all he could think about. Every last defense Kurt knew of went useless. His instincts were clouded by the flashbacks, each flashback feeling as if they had only occurred the day before.

“You don’t even try to fight this,” but in Kurt’s brain, Karofsky’s voice had morphed into one much colder.

The hand dropped lower, calloused fingers intruding their way under his clothes, and Kurt let out a sob, wishing he had something to grip onto. Where were the purple Jersey Sheets? Where was the Miami Dolphins throw pillow? The phantom scent of cigar smoke and putrid alcohol breath was already filling his senses. The thick fingers spreading him, feeling him, invading him dragged forcefully over his skin, threatening.

Without warning, Kurt was thrown onto the ground; his head smacked the cement floor with immense power.

“ _What the hell did you do to me, Cat!?_ ” Karofsky screamed at him, storming over to where Kurt lay in a heap on the floor. He lifted Kurt slightly by his t-shirt and yelled in his face, “ _I was normal before you!_ ” Kurt sobbed again, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Karofsky threw him back on the ground, his head smacking the hard flooring in the process with the same intensity and bringing bright flashes before his eyes.

When Kurt opened them back up again, Karofsky had gone.

He barely managed to crawl his way over to the stalls before he was puking into the school toilet. The stream was endless and burned his throat when he had nothing left but stomach acid to retch. He fluttered between welding his eyes shut and prying them open; both sights only made his sickness worsen.

The stream subsided only after an eternity, and Kurt didn’t even realize his hand had fluttered across the screen of his phone until he had brought it up to his ear.

_Answer. Oh god, please answer your phone_.

The call rang three times before a frantic voice answered. “ _Kurt?!_ ”

“ _Blaine_ ,” he breathed, his voice even more hoarse and broken than he had thought it would be.

The silence on the other end only lasted for a split second. “ _Where are you?_ ”

“Locker room.” And then he added, unable to stop himself, “Please hurry.”

“I’m coming. Stay on the line with me until I get there, okay? Can you do that for me?” Kurt nodded into the phone without realizing that Blaine wouldn’t be able to see it. He felt sick again.

A minute later, Blaine’s footsteps were heard rushing into the room, and suddenly the stall door pushed in. Kurt’s nostrils filled with his smell, and he needed more of it to flush out the lingering scent of stale alcohol and cigars. Blaine was down on the floor with him, eyes wide and worrisome, and Kurt reached for him.

Blaine let Kurt clutch onto his polyester uniform, bury his nose into the crook of his neck, and sob wetly all over him. The strong arms that wrapped around him kept him guarded and the scent wafting off of his neck kept him safe. He wanted to immerse himself into the embrace; he unknowingly tried to, curling as closely into Blaine’s side as he could. The hand in his hair was so, so gentle. It cradled his head softly, keeping him upright. Eventually, it pulled him back to generate eye contact. “Kurt?” Blaine started with a question, wide eyes just as gentle as the hand. “Where are you hurt?”

There wasn’t an answer Kurt could give. _It’s not physical_ , he tried to explain. _Everything hurts_.

Somehow, it was as if Blaine understood. “We’ll figure it out, okay?” He assured. “Can you get up? Can you walk?”

Slowly, Kurt nodded, his gaze slipping downward to the polyester uniform. Blaine helped him up anyway, for which Kurt was grateful. He flushed the toilet with his foot and all but carried Kurt out into the hallway. Kurt didn’t notice he was still shaking so badly until he was up on his feet.

The hallways were empty. Blaine took Kurt to an office he’d never been in before.

Sue Sylvester was reading a magazine when they walked in, but with one glace she was out of her chair and on Kurt’s other side. “Sit him in mine,” she told them, and helped them maneuver him to her large chair behind her desk. Kurt curled himself onto it, trying to become as small as he possibly could. His tail wrapped around his chest and his ears flattened against his skull.

Coach Sylvester pulled Blaine aside, and they were talking in hushed voices that Kurt knew he would be able to hear, but he forced himself to not focus on the words. He desperately wished for Blaine to come back to him, offer up his scent to him again. Away from it, the memories started to wash in. “-I’ll go get the nurse,” Blaine was saying, two steps away from leaving the room.

Kurt wanted to tell him to _stop, please, no, please don’t leave me_ , but all that came out of his mouth when he opened it was a low, loud _mrowl_ \- the most catlike noise that he has made in years. He wanted to be embarrassed by it, but his desperation for Blaine’s company masked it. Blaine stood frozen in the doorway, staring at him.

“I’ll go,” Sue offered, breaking the tensions slightly and making her way past Blaine. “He’s more likely to answer your questions,” was the only reasoning she gave them before she left.

Blaine was still across the room, too far away, so Kurt let out another pitiful _meow_ toward him. He was by his side in an instant then, procuring a cloth of some sort from Coach Sylvester’s stash somewhere in the process and kneeling down in front of him. Inhaling, Kurt shivered at the relief.

Lightly grabbing Kurt by the chin, Blaine started dabbing at Kurt’s face with the cloth. The coolness against his overheated, aching skin felt like heaven. Blaine wiped his entire face of sweat before setting the cloth in his lap, dropping Kurt’s jaw and asking in the most careful voice, “Kurt? Can you tell me what happened?”

The sickness waved over him again. He shook his head.

“Okay, okay,” Blaine said calmingly, a few nerves peeking through his determined steadiness. “I just want to help you. I don’t know how to do that if I don’t know what happened.”

Swallowing thickly, Kurt took in as much of Blaine’s scent as he could. He couldn’t bear looking into glistening, honey eyes as he stuttered, “T-Touched-...”

The sharp intake of breath and the jitter of the hand on his cheek made Kurt’s ears twitch. His eyes, which hadn’t stopped streaming the tears, gushed a new wave of them. “Th-That’s all you have to explain about that,” Blaine assured, reinforcing the hand on Kurt’s cheek. “Did he hurt you anywhere while- during-?”

“Just my head,” he admitted, and with it the realization of how badly it hurt blossomed.

Coach Sylvester was back with the nurse. Blaine made to get up and move, but Kurt used the grip he didn’t know he had on Blaine’s hand to hold him back; he settled on the floor, wrapping his fingers around Kurt’s palm. “Test him for head injuries,” Blaine requested.

“Okay, Kurt, don’t tell me how many fingers I am holding up, tell me how many you see,” the nurse ordered him.

Blinking at the sudden dizziness, Kurt answered, “Four.”

She made him try to touch his nose, shined a light into his eyes that made his headache spike, and he couldn’t remember what he had for breakfast. “You have a concussion, sweetheart,” she informed him after he explained the area of this headache. “I’m not authorized to give you anything other than a bag of ice. You’ll have to go to the hospital-”

Kurt sat straight up in his seat and hissed, “ _No hospitals_.” Hospitals meant that the government would have to get involved. It meant getting poked and prodded at by the ‘special’ doctor the government had assigned to him: the one who studied Kurt’s files and always felt he was excused to examine Kurt in any way that he pleased.

“Kurt, you need to get an MRI to make sure that your brain isn’t swelling,” the nurse explained, sounding far too sweet, as if Kurt were a child that didn’t understand her. “I’ll go call an ambulance.”

“And I’ll call your father,” Coach Sylvester said, and Kurt wanted to protest that too. He didn’t want his father involved. He didn’t want him to be worried any more than he was on a daily basis. _Damn it._ Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to let these things happen to him?! She unhooked the phone from the wall and stepped out into the hallway. Kurt would still be able to hear that conversation too, but once again he didn’t let himself focus on it.

“Come with me,” Kurt said to Blaine before he knew it was leaving his lips.

“I-… don’t know if they’ll let me-”

“Please.”

“Okay,” Blaine answered, this time without hesitation.

Kurt was glad that the ambulance arrived before his father did; he didn’t want to face him just yet. Blaine was allowed to ride with him, but only after Kurt had hissed in the EMT’s face for trying to tell him that he wasn’t.

Something about Blaine’s hand in his the entire trip to the hospital was both grounding and nerve-wracking. The scent was calming, but he had to constantly fight off urges to pull the boy closer and smell him until the memories of the incident were buried under miles of its safety. Instead, he was forced to grip the hand in two of his own while EMT’s asked him questions and to perform tasks- the same ones as the nurse had.

Blaine wasn’t allowed into the CAT scan room, as they decided to x-ray his whole body instead of just his head, but Kurt didn’t press that for his safety. Even so, the whirring machines and instructions for him to stay still were doing nothing to help his nerves. The entire time, he tried to concentrate on any lingering scent he could catch even though he was forced to change into a horrible hospital gown and there wasn’t any place for the scent to linger. Three times a voice from the machine near his ear asked him to stop fidgeting, but it was a near impossible task. He needed Blaine’s scent.

He was issued a room, where he was told that he would have to wait for his doctor, Dr. Coni, to fly in from D.C..

Burt rushed into the room not two minutes after Kurt entered it. The noticeable absence of Blaine’s scent was subdued entirely by the entrance of Burt’s more familiar one, and Kurt nearly melted into the hospital bed with relief. “Hey buddy,” he started, too fast. “How are you feeling? How’s your head?”

“I’m fine, Dad,” Kurt said through clenched teeth.  Still, Burt reached over and took Kurt’s hand. The touch was nostalgic- sentimentally so. He held that hand the day he was rescued, after his first horrendous day in public school, during his mother’s funeral. He tried not to grip, he tried to not show any sign of distress, but fighting off the emotion was harder than he could withstand.

The silence was awkward. Kurt knew that his father knew what happened as to why Kurt was currently in a hospital bed; he knew that Blaine would have told him in mumbled, sickly empathetic tones before the nurses could break it to him clinically. It was obvious that Burt was itching to demand that a name come out of Kurt’s mouth, but here with the pretense that his son’s brain could be swelling as he lay on a hospital bed, he didn’t press it.

The double vision was nauseating, so Kurt closed his eyes. “Dr. Coni called me,” his father settled on. “He’s being rushed over by jet as we speak.”

Unashamedly, he groaned, massaging his brow bone. “I just hit my head.”

“You have a concussion,” Burt corrected. “And I think we both know that more than just your head was injured.”

Kurt pulled his hand away.

Tentatively, as if walking around a room full of mouse traps, Burt asked, “…Has this happened before?” Kurt clamped onto his tongue tightly with his molars, trying to lull himself into a blissful state of nothingness, of not feeling or remembering or dealing with any of this. The clinical air around him only reminded him of the stale alcohol, but smelling Burt made him feel worse. “Kurt, I need to know this.”

“Yeah, about every day until I was six and a half,” Kurt bit, unnecessarily sharp.

He was thankful his eyes were still closed, because even hearing Burt’s gasp was enough to bury him with regret and self-loathing. He closed in on himself further. “You know that’s not what I meant,” Burt tried to reason, but his soft voice only made Kurt pull back from him more.

Kurt was caught; he knew his silence was answering Burt’s question, but he didn’t have anything to say that would protect his father from knowing, from _worrying_. To his luck, the door to his room opened and a young nurse walked in.

“Hi, Kurt, my name is Brandon,” the nurse said sounding friendly. Kurt blinked his eyes open and tried to get a good view of him; he looked no older than the most recent college alumni. “I have just been authorized to ask you some questions, is that alright?”

“Do they have any news on his CAT scan?” Burt questioned immediately.

Nurse Brandon frowned. “Not yet. The hospital isn’t allowed to view Kurt’s files, so we had to send them over to his specialist, and he hasn’t sent us anything back yet.” If rolling his eyes wouldn’t have spiked Kurt’s pain, he would have done so. His brain was the same as a normal human’s; it didn’t take the country’s most elite doctors to decipher whether it bubbled up or not. Through the pain it was to see, Kurt saw Brandon lean forwards towards him. “Can you explain the intensity of the headache on a scale of one-to-ten? Ten being the highest?”

“Seven,” Kurt fudged.

“Nice try, but I can tell you that it’s definitely at least a nine.” Brandon asked a few more questions about the pain in his head, where the pain was centralized and what senses triggered it, before he turned to Burt. “I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the room for a little bit, Mr. Hummel,” he said, and something dark and heavy dropped into Kurt’s stomach.

Burt looked like he was about to argue, wanting to stay near his son and be there for him during the hard questions, but he left regardless. Kurt knew Burt wasn’t insensitive; he understood it would be easier for Kurt to talk about if he wasn’t there.

After Burt excused himself, shutting the door maybe a little too softly, Brandon sat in the seat he vacated. “Kurt, before we start I am obligated to tell you that I am under a legal oath to not speak of anything we say in here to anyone. The things I am writing down will get directly sent to your doctor, and your doctor only, and the answers you provide are only asked from you for your personal wellbeing. While you are free to only give the information you are comfortable with, please note that the more information you give, the more we can help you.”

Kurt nodded; he’s heard the speech before. But he knew that a lot more people than just Dr. Coni will be reading that report. A whole team if scientists will look things over to make sure that he wasn’t damaged. In the end, Kurt told Brandon everything in a dull, flat voice, half of the time not even processing the words he was saying. The only thing he refused to give was a name.

Brandon clipped the pen onto the clipboard after giving a closing speech much like the opening one, and thanking him for his strength, whatever that was. He was just about to leave when he turned back to Kurt. “Oh, and there’s a boy in a cheerleading uniform waiting outside the room. He kind of looks like he’s about to explode with worry, if you feel like letting him in.”

Blaine. Images of the boy carrying him through the hallway, mopping cold sweat off of his face, letting him clutch onto his shirt to sob came rushing in. The embarrassment flooded his cheeks. He wanted to deny Blaine access, to go back to avoiding him like the plague like he had been doing just this morning. _It still was morning,_ he realized, the trauma making it feel like hours had passed; as if traumatic things can’t happen in the mornings.

But Blaine deserved something. He was missing class to ride in the back of an ambulance and wait outside of a hospital room for Kurt; the least Kurt could do to repay him was look him in the face. When Burt came back in the room, Kurt didn’t waste time. “Is Blaine still out there?” and Burt spun on his heel without missing a beat and called the boy inside.

Blaine surely did look like he was about to explode with worry; he had his eyebrows scrunched together and a frown tight on his face. He sighed, his shoulders dropping when he saw Kurt. “Hey,” he said, and Kurt nodded. The awkward air bubbled. “Don’t get the coffee here. It tastes horrible.”

Huffing out a laugh, Kurt was glad Blaine didn’t start the conversation asking him how he felt. “Aren’t you going to get in trouble for ditching school?” he asked despite being the one to drag him out here in the first place, clinging to the falsely light tone Blaine had set.

“The thing about Coach Sylvester is that can make anything happen. She already covered for me, so long as I make it back for practice,” he ended the sentence with a shrug, still standing near the doorway, as if wondering if he was allowed all the way inside of the room. “Priorities. I would never have gotten away with it in Dalton.”

A suspicious smile, almost like a smirk, donned Burt’s face. He regained the seat he was sitting in earlier. “Is that your old school? Not that prestigious all-boy’s private campus in Westerville?”

Blushing, Blaine ducked his head. “Uh, yeah. My parents thought it would be a… better environment for me.” Kurt clenched his teeth. Having both scents mingling in the air around him was confusing; Blaine and his father having a conversation in front of him set off his nerves. He watched them interact, sinking back deeper into the stiff hospital mattress underneath him to hide himself.

The conversation between the two of them went light and easy, with Blaine talking about Dalton and why he transferred to McKinley. Kurt tried to tune them both out. The only problem with that was that he had to focus on something to keep his mind neutral, and the only thing keeping his attention was the pounding of his headache just under where his right ear sat on top of his head, which was steadily growing in pain.

He pressed a hand to the ear to try and relieve the pressure, but it didn’t quite work the way he wanted, so he rubbed at it. “Is it your headache?” Kurt had a double-take, not realizing at first that his father spoke to him. “Is it getting worse?”

“Oh?” Kurt blinked at him, and then shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine-” he tried to throw off, but his father already had a hand in his hair and took over the role of rubbing his ear. Kurt flinched, but he gave into the gesture when it started to lift some of the tension of his headache. He couldn’t help leaning into the touch to guide the hand where he wanted it to scratch. Eyes sliding shut and with his father’s scent domineering, Kurt allowed himself to relax.

Until a familiar rumbling in his chest grew louder and Kurt flicked his head out from under Burt’s touch. “I’m good,” he mumbled, straightening out the hairs over the ear. Blaine had been staring.

On cue to save them from the looming break in conversation, a door opened and another nurse walked in. She had a motherly look about her akin the girls back at the shelter. “Hi, sweetheart, my name is Carole, and I’ll be your acting nurse for the day,” she introduced herself, holding a hand out to shake Kurt’s. Kurt stared at it for only a moment before he remembered what he was supposed to do when people give him their hand (friendly interaction with strangers is something rare for Kurt). “Dr. Coni just emailed word back on your CAT scan, but unfortunately you’ll have to wait for him to get here to get the full text on your injury. The good news is that he says that there is no swelling or any immediate threat detectable of future swelling we would have had to worry about.”

Although this was good news, Kurt grumbled. He was fine, but he knew it would be hours, if not days, before he would actually be allowed out of this hospital. Dr. Coni had a nasty habit of drawing out their appointments to squeeze every last test he could on Kurt.

“Also, he wants me to examine you for any scrapes or bruises-”

“I declined that in the ambulance,” Kurt interrupted testily. “I’m fine. I don’t need a report written about every paper cut I get.”

Nurse Carole smiled at him warmly and spoke in a mock whisper, making Kurt resent his tone. “I’ll tell you what, honey: I’ll let it slide if you promise tell everyone who asks that I pressured the topic on you very sternly.”

“Deal,” Kurt replied, unable to stop the small upturn of his lips.

“But for your wait here, you were put on the meal plan…”

She talked him through meal plans, which he knew he wouldn’t stomach with his impending heat. To his dismay, he was put on the roster for even dinner, even though the high speed governmental jet Dr. Coni was flying in on would be here long before that. “It’s just in case, dear,” Nurse Carole tried to tell him.

Just as Nurse Carole was making her leave, wishing Kurt health and promising to check on him, Burt stood up from his chair rather hastily, and Kurt noticed that he had been staring at the Nurse a little too intently. “Can I… ask you a question outside, Carole? About… um. Ah, things.”

Kurt saw the way the nurse blinked, taken aback. “Oh. Of course!”

Maybe Kurt would have believed that line, if he did not know his father’s solemn nervousness so well. Instead, this nervousness was laced with something that had taken Kurt aback. It was excitement; it was a specific brand of excitement that Kurt hadn’t seen since he was eight…

Kurt instinctively tried to look for a certain piece of hand jewelry before they both ducked out, but her left side was facing away from him.

He caught Blaine’s eye by accident, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines, and shushed him before he could say anything. Having an animalistic sense of hearing tends to be on the pleasant side of his predicament, and as the list of pleasant traits that come from his predicament was a rather short one, his sense of hearing was the one advantage he took pride in abusing over normal people. He focused his ears to hone in on the conversation outside of the door.

But years of living with Kurt had taught Burt a thing or two. Kurt tried not to make an indecent noise when he realized Burt had taken the nurse on a trip down the hallway to prevent Kurt from eavesdropping. “Damn him,” he couldn’t help cursing.

Blaine was still staring at him, trying to suppress a smile. “She was wearing her wedding ring on her necklace.”

“So he’s either dead or she’s needed a refitting for a long time,” Kurt supplied bluntly, sitting back on his bed and admiring the strange way that situation played out.

Across from him, Blaine occupied the now empty chair by his bed. “Have you been setting him up?” he asked innocently enough.

Kurt’s eyes flashed at the sudden close proximity, and the reality of where he was and why he was there came back to him. He let out a breath. “Not as much as I’d like to. I don’t make the best wingman,” he admitted. “But it’s been eight years. I just… want him to be happy.”

Nodding, Blaine let the conversation slip into silence. For a moment, Kurt fetched frantically for a topic before his lack of words made him give up and let the silence happen.

“Thank you for calling me, Kurt.” The hitch in Kurt’s breathing almost choked him. He tried to wave it off, to get off of the topic, but- “Hey,” Blaine hovered a hand over where Kurt’s lay fisted on the bed, never actually touching. “I mean it. It was really brave of you to seek help.”

Brave. Strong. He wasn’t either of those things; why do people keep calling him that? The urge to cry overwhelmed him. “I thought you’d ignore the call-”

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine said earnestly, sitting forward in his seat. His eyes were glistening. “I had given you my number for you to call me when you needed help. I would never take that back. Besides, I was just in Glee club.”

Taking several steadying breaths, Kurt picked at the hospital gown he was wearing that made him feel completely naked. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again.”

To his surprise, Blaine chuckled lightly. “How about you let me determine who I do and do not want to see for myself, instead of letting your insecurities make my opinions?” Kurt’s eyes flashed to him again. Blaine’s eyebrows were drawn up with a strange emotion, his hand still ghosting above where Kurt’s was clenched on the bed. “Kurt, you are an amazing person,” Kurt’s heart stuttered at the term, “and I am being completely honest when I say that getting coffee with you those _two days_ that you let me was the highlight of my week. I don’t care about the things you can’t control, because they’re part of what makes you _you_.”

Clenching his teeth, Kurt stared at the ugly printed sheets.

“You know that I’m serious, don’t you?” Blaine tried to look him in the eye.

For some reason, anger was frothing inside of him. He ripped his fist out from under Blaine’s hovering hand. “Then why aren’t you even _touching_ me right now?” he yelled, a little too loudly. “You can’t even touch me- you can’t-”

“Because I didn’t want to touch you without your permission, especially right now.” The air rushed out of Kurt’s lungs. He stared at the boy, even through the double vision. Blaine slowly held his hand back out. “Can I?” He asked.

Kurt watched the hand, palm upturned and gentle, as it waited for Kurt’s answer. Eventually, Kurt managed to slip his into it. It made his stomach twist in ways it shouldn’t, as he lay here on a hospital bed with a raging headache while wearing nothing but a horrible mint colored paper gown trying to forget the memories of a few hours ago. He pulled the thin covers over him farther with his free hand.

“I think you should switch out of your gym class,” Blaine said, as if trying to hide his smile even though Kurt could smell the proud, accomplished scent now wafting off of him.

Part of him wanted to hiss in response. Instead, he sighed. “I can’t. I would have to take it _and_ my senior gym class next year. And there aren’t any classes I can join to fill my schedule this late in the semester.”

“The school offers a gym class over the summer. It’ll suck during the heat, but you’ll be with kids who failed because they don’t give a crap, and it’ll be easier,” Blaine explained. “Your class is during second period. I can talk to Mr. Schuester about letting you join-”

“ _No_ ,” Kurt snapped immediately. “Absolutely not-”

“ _As an understudy_ ,” Blaine continued, giving Kurt an amused look. Kurt was ready to start growling. “You won’t have to go on stage at all. You might not even have to _sing_ \- I’ll talk to him.”

A growl did rumble dangerously for a moment, but Kurt suppressed it with a glare to Blaine’s earnestly golden eyes. Blaine squeezed his hand lightly. “Look, Kurt, that class isn’t safe for you. You shouldn’t have to walk back into the locker room on Monday with him,” Kurt winced, and Blaine’s thumb stroked the side of his palm. “Glee club will be safe for you. And it looks good on résumés,” he added, as if that helped.

Biting down on his tongue, Kurt knew he was right. Mr. Schuester might be an ass, and Rachel a headache, but at least he won’t vomit due to their mere presence (hopefully). Staring down at their joined hands, Kurt muttered. “I hate you.” He looked up to see a hurt look flash on Blaine’s face, and he allowed himself to smile. “For making me have to put up with Rachel Berry every day for the rest of the school year.”

The grin that adorned Blaine’s face was the essence of dopey.

Burt came back in the room ten minutes later, looking a little light of breath. He and Blaine exchanged glances, but made a silent agreement to not say anything about it just yet. After all, he didn’t say anything about their adjoined hands.

_o-O-o_

Knowing it would be a bit before Kurt’s doctor came in, they lost themselves in an episode or two of America’s Next Top Model; it was an old episode, but Burt always hid his fascination with the show very poorly and Kurt liked to see him try. (Kurt might have topped it off to the pretty young women, but he knew his father wasn’t like that. He just liked the show, plain and simple, and had trouble coming to terms with that.)

An hour later, Carole came back with Kurt’s lunch; sure enough, the smell made him instantly nauseous the moment it entered the room. He poked it slowly, a grimace on his face, catching the way his father straightened up in his chair when the Nurse smiled at him before she left.

After a few minutes of willing himself to eat, he gave up and pushed the tray to his father. “It’s not going to happen,” he explained, knowing his dad knew how picky Kurt became about his food during this time of year.

“I’m not sure I’d want to eat this any time of year,” Burt grumbled, but bit into the meatloaf anyway, and sure enough frowned at the taste.

“Do they have fruit?” Kurt asked, praying they at least had decent apples.

“I’ll go down and check the cafeteria,” Burt assured, pushing the tray aside and getting up from his seat. He turned to Blaine. “You want something, kid?” Before Blaine could politely deny, Burt rolled his eyes and answered for him, “I’ll get you one of those big muffins,” and stepped out of the room again.

Sighing, Blaine commented to fill the air, almost sadly, “I like your dad.”

Pursing his lips, Kurt replied. “He likes you too.”

“You’re lucky.”

For what Kurt realized was the first time, Kurt began to wonder about Blaine’s family. He didn’t talk about them much; at all, really, being Kurt didn’t even know if Blaine had siblings. Blaine was allusive about the information he shared. The door opened again before Kurt could work up the nerve to ask.

“Kurt!” came a voice that chilled Kurt’s spine. Dr. Coni was a fair, wiry-haired, largely-bespectacled man in his late forties; he was rather small, and had an unnerving level of excitable energy whenever he came to examine Kurt. Inspecting Kurt gave him an uncomfortable amount of pleasure. A few years ago, Kurt discovered that Dr. Coni had been strongly rooting for the government to take him in for testing during his court cases to determine what would happen to him after he was released from that basement. Kurt could feel the fur on his tail prickling upwards and his ears falling against his hair. “Pleasure to be with you again,” he said with a chilling smile and a hand out.

Shaking the hand, Kurt grimaced.

“Good news about your head-” he began, but then stopped short noticing Blaine sitting elegantly straight in the chair by the bed. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir, this is classified inform-”

Kurt didn’t even try to hide the growl. “Blaine stays.”

Dr. Coni frowned, “I’m prohibited from allowing anyone-”

“Blaine’s hardly going to copy down everything you’re saying and post it on the internet,” he bit harshly, regretting his loudness when his head throbbed in consequence. He did his best to ignore it. “He has my full faith,” he added, and then dropped his voice and muttered so that only Blaine could hear, “ _I’d probably ask you to do it just to spite him_.”

Dr. Coni gave Blaine a hard look, and there was something strange in the way he squinted his eyes. “Very well,” he said eventually, which set Kurt on edge at how easily he complied. “It seems your concussion is minor; there was no visible damage to the brain, but we’re still going to have to perform a couple of tests to make sure everything is alright-” _a couple of tests to see how your mutated brain reacted to the impact_ \- “and we want to monitor and interrupt your sleep just in case.”

Trying not to roll his eyes, Kurt gave a non-committal grunt in response. Of course, the first thing the doctor would do was tell him he had to stay overnight. It was so, completely unnecessary. He was fine. He had a headache. He could make do with a few tablets of aspirin. Without warning, Dr. Coni’s fingers came to his temples, and Kurt flinched so hard he almost punched him in the face. He grew still.

“Where is the headache?” He questioned obliviously, and Kurt prayed he would stop rubbing.

“In th-the back of my skull,” he answered, but he wished he hadn’t when the doctor brought the hand to massage back there. Being manhandled made his tail start to jitter and tap on the bedding.

“We need to check you for other signs of damage that won’t show up on your CAT scan-”

“I’m fine,” Kurt interrupted quickly.

Dr. Coni’s scrutinizing frown almost made Kurt hiss. Instead of pressuring the subject, he took his hand away and asked blatantly, “How’s your heat coming along?”

The rush and jumble of words that left Kurt’s lips brought with it an uprising of blood to his face. He slapped a hand over his mouth. “It’s- I-It’s- uhh-” he said through it in mortification, because _Blaine was sitting right next to him with wide eyes oh god-_

“It should be easier with a mate this year; you’ll-”

“With- With a _what_?!” Kurt’s voice was nothing but a shriek.

To Kurt’s horror, Dr. Coni pointed to Blaine unashamedly. “Your mate. He should help you satiate your need for contact and release-”

“ _Oh my god_!” Kurt yelled, mainly to stop this man from talking, _oh my god why was he talking_?! “He’s not my- and I would _never_ call him-” he mistakenly looked up to Blaine’s face, which was also bright red and Kurt was fairly certain that Blaine was sure to be running for the hills after this conversation. “ _Oh my god_ ,” he repeated, somehow more shaken this time as he tried to hide his face in his hands.

At that moment, Burt walked in with the bag of fruit and halted at the scene in front of him in confusion. With Burt in the room, Blaine stood up hastily from his seat. “I’ll let you- um,” he mumbled lowly, imperceptible to everyone without Kurt’s ears, “t-talk about this in… private.”

As Blaine excused himself from the room, Kurt begged for a worm hole to spontaneously appear. Or a T-Rex to smash in through the window and eat him.

“Is he not your mate?” Dr. Coni said conversationally, as if nothing had happened and he didn’t just mortify Kurt out of his soul.

“I- _you_ -” Kurt stuttered, his humiliation morphing into rage. “I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t call _anyone_ that! That’s _degrading_!”

Still lost in confusion, Burt sat down in the vacant seat next to him, unsure as to what to say. “Regardless, you should really look into getting yourself someone to help you out,” Dr. Coni advised, without any shred of shame. “You did indeed turn out to be gay, didn’t you? We can look into setting you up-”

“Are you _kidding_ me?!” Kurt yelled, infuriated. “Setting me up with a-?! I’m not going to let you _pay_ someone to- to-” he couldn’t get himself to fathom any more words on that topic, so he switched. “And I didn’t ‘ _turn out’_ to be gay; I was programmed specifically to be gay since before I was born. Of course I’m gay!”

“You know about that?” Burt said and Kurt did a double take. Of all the things his father was taken aback by during this conversation.

“I-” Kurt’s eyebrows scrunched in disbelief at his father. “Of course I know I’m gay. It’s not a _secret_. I thought you-?”

“I just didn’t know that you knew I knew, or that you knew about _why_ ,” Burt explained himself, still blinking from the shock. And Kurt realized that _oh yeah_ , Burt wouldn’t know that he knew because he shouldn’t have overheard the conversation Dr. Coni had with him and Kurt’s mother just outside the doctor’s office all those years ago. That was before they knew Kurt could hear through closed doors and hushed whispers quite easily. “You’ve never talked about it, so I just assumed you were insecure.”

Kurt squinted his eyes. “I have a _tail_ ,” he reminded him. “Why would I be insecure about being gay?”

“Oh,” Burt shrugged, clicking his tongue and sitting back in his chair. “I had a whole speech planned, too.”

“Nothing is ever certain about you, Kurt,” Dr. Coni continued as if he had ignored the sidetracked conversation entirely. “We can only assume things.”

“ _Regardless_ ,” Kurt hissed stingingly, “when I find someone special, I’ll have a _boyfriend_ , just like everybody else has.”

Dr. Coni was marking a few things down on his clipboard. Once again, he spoke as if he had ignored Kurt. “Does your heat feel stronger this year as you reach maturity?”

The blush blossomed again on his cheeks; Kurt knew there was no fighting Dr. Coni to remain on a subject he didn’t wish to stay on. He crossed his arms. “Yes.”

“Are we doing a regular check up, while you’re here?” Burt asked, trying to get on track. “What about his head? Is he alright?”

_o-O-o_

Because the government wanted Dr. Coni to give Kurt his full Spring check up early while he was here, Kurt was stuck answering his questions, doing exercises, and being stuck by needles for an hour and a half. The exam never got less embarrassing, and he was thankful Blaine was waiting outside when he was poked and prodded, then asked to purr, meow, hiss, growl, exercise his tail and ears. As always, Kurt was completely fine, with no drastic changes they needed to worry about. The process was lengthy and unnerving on a regular day, but the casual way Dr. Coni manhandled him today was a thousand times worse.

They finished up with a few more questions, before Dr. Coni finally decided their first session was done. “…I’ll be back once I run a few tests on the blood work. I’ll get you something to calm your headache, as well,” _finally_. A hand rested on the doorknob. “Oh, and a couple of guys will be in shortly to ask you more questions about the attack.” It was the first time Kurt’s attack was mentioned in the hour and a half Dr. Coni was in. His ears twitched.

Blaine returned in the room once the doctor was gone, looking slightly pink. Kurt fought not to look him in the eye as best as he could, and immersed himself in the fruit he was finally allowed to eat. He had even less appetite than before.

There was ten minutes of small talk before the door opened again, and this time two large men in dark suits stepped in. They each shook both Kurt and Burt’s hands. Kurt had never met them before. “Hello, Mr. Hummel,” the fairer skinned one addressed Kurt, “this is Agent Collski and I am Detective Bryers.”

Squinting his eyes, Kurt nodded warily.

“We were flown in with Dr. Coni,” Detective Bryers explained, in a softer tone than Kurt had expected, being around the doctor for so long. “We’re here to capture and arrest the person who attacked you to ensure your safety.”

A heavy pressure fell onto Kurt’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. These men were here to arrest Karofsky. And it wouldn’t be just any arrest, Kurt knew. These agents were flown in from Washington D.C. specifically to get him locked up. Detective Bryers was talking again, but Kurt couldn’t hear him. Twenty four hours ago David was a normal kid surviving a normal high school, and possibly before nightfall he could end up in federal prison, or worse-

“No.”

Detective Bryers stopped talking, and looked at him with surprise. “Mr. Hummel, I realize that you are-”

“ _No_ ,” Kurt said more firmly. Suddenly, anger was burning inside of him. “I’m not going to give you a name. You don’t think I know what you’re going to do to him? He’s a _kid_.”

“Your safety is-”

“My safety is my own damn business!” Kurt raised his voice this time. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t _belong_ to the United States. I am _not_ an experiment to be kept top secret and highly guarded by the government. Sending a _federal agent_ and _detective_ in to arrest a high schooler?!”

Agent Collski finally leaned forward and spoke in his deep voice, “Mr. Hummel, you were attacked both sexually and physically, and the court cases gave us certain rights to ensure your safety and well being. The man who hurt you has committed a federal crime. We have no choice but to find him and take him in.”

“It’s for the best, Kurt,” Burt offered carefully, resting a hand to Kurt’s tense forearm. Kurt looked up at him feebly. “What’s to stop this kid from hurting you like this again? He already has a history of attacking you. He’s not going to stop, Kurt.”

Biting his tongue, Kurt sat back on the bed. Even if he didn’t give any information, it wouldn’t take a lot of digging to find Karofsky’s name. His heart thumped rapidly in his chest. Anyone could have spotted him sneaking out of class and into the locker room after Kurt. Flailing for a solution, Kurt sputtered, “Give him one more chance.”

“ _Kurt_ ,” it was Blaine that spoke in his soft wavering voice, making Kurt flinch. His honey eyes bore deep into Kurt’s core and made him feel small. Kurt stared back at him with clenched teeth, feeling hurt that Blaine wasn’t backing him up. “Are you sure?”

Something inside of Kurt broke. He knew what this sounded like. He knew that he sounded like a scared victim protecting his harasser because he didn’t know of a life without the abuse. But it wasn’t that, and Kurt knew it. Kurt had _lived_ with that for the entire first decade of his life. It had taken years of work for his therapist to break that thought process and re-piece him. As an ode to her, Kurt vowed to protect himself if something like this had ever happened again. Kurt didn’t hold sympathy for Karofsky for doing what he had; he knew that he should be held responsible for his actions. But _federal_ prison? For a seventeen year old who didn’t understand the impact he left? He took a shaky breath and forced himself to stop staring into those eyes. “I-I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him what will happen to him if he touches me again. A-And if he does… I’ll give you his name.”

“That’s not generally how we work,” Detective Bryers spoke slowly, as if Kurt was a child.

Kurt gave him a stern look. “I just need you to trust me. It won’t happen again.”

“Dammit, Kurt!” Burt’s voice shook as he spoke a little too loudly. “You can’t be sure about that!”

“ _Yes I can_ ,” Kurt demanded. “He won’t go to Juvie, Dad!”

“You’re my _son_ , Kurt!”

A lump caught in Kurt’s throat. “I know what I’m doing,” Kurt said, though he was shaking.

Detective Bryers sighed, and stood up in unison with Agent Collski. “I’ll see what I can do. You refuse to give a name and request we hold off investigation until further notice. Our heads aren’t going to like this.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said, despite himself.

The agents packed themselves away, shook their hands again, and left. It took a minute of utter silence for Burt to excuse himself, without even a look toward Kurt.

A hand hovered over his arm tentatively, and he looked up to Blaine’s wide, worrisome eyes again. “Are you sure?” he asked again softly, putting so much pressure against Kurt’s chest it was getting hard to breathe. Kurt nodded slowly. “You know that we’re just… we just don’t want you to get hurt again. Or for him to hurt someone else. It’s not just about you- he could hurt _anyone_. Your father’s just really scared.”

“I know,” Kurt clenched his jaw. Fed up with the hovering hand, Kurt took hold of it. “But you guys don’t know the whole story.”

“Then what is it?” Blaine held him tightly in his palm. “What are we missing?”

Kurt shook his head.

It took another long silence for Blaine to speak. “I know it was Dave Karofsky.”

The intake of breath was hard on Kurt’s sore throat. “D- _don’t_ -” he started, begging and pleading with everything he had left in him. “Blaine- Blaine _please_ , please don’t-”

“I wouldn’t,” Blaine assured him, staring down into his lap and looking small. “I wouldn’t unless you were in real danger again. This is your battle, and if you don’t want to give his name then I won’t do it for you. But if… if something happens- if anything happens, Kurt, or even seems like it _will_ happen- I value your safety so much more than his. What he’s doing is not okay, and I’m not going to let you minimize anything that he does to you. He doesn’t deserve to be coddled for what he is doing.”

“He’s _gay_ , Blaine,” Kurt said before he could stop himself, tears in his eyes.

“He-… what?”

Trying to keep his breathing steady, Kurt explained, the voice of his old therapist ghosting him reason. “He’s _gay_. You know what it’s like when you’re gay in Lima, Ohio. He’s scared of who he is, so he takes it out on me. He thinks that he’s only attracted to me because of my mutation so he tried to make it about domination. I _know_ it’s absolutely no excuse for what he did. He’s in denial about who he is, and how he feels about me because he’s scared. There’s a way that I can fix this. How can I… How can I send him off to federal prison? It would only make him worse, more scared, more _dangerous_. Do you think he’d leave prison a better person if federal agents just picked him up out of high school and dropped him in prison without a fair trial? I just… I need to talk to him. I need to help him.”

The grip Blaine had on him was starting to cut off circulation. “Kurt, I…” he sighed deeply, trying to calm himself down. “I don’t quite understand what you’re saying, and I don’t think this is the right course of action for you to take. And I honestly believe that you honestly believe you know what you’re doing, but… if you talk to him, please let me go with you.”

“…I don’t-”

“Kurt, whatever the reason- gay or scared or anything else- he _hurt_ you today, and he could very well hurt you or someone else again,” Blaine reasoned desperately, adding his other hand to wrap around the one of Kurt’s he was already wrenching. “You’re right. He shouldn’t have to go through whatever the government wants to put him through because of your situation. He _should_ face jail, though. He needs to face consequences equal to what he did. And confronting him does not guarantee your safety. He might not wait to listen to what you have to say. And I know how strong you are, but it’s going to be hard enough for you to speak to him with me there, let alone if you were to try it by yourself. Please let me be there for you.”

Eventually, Kurt nodded, because he knew Blaine was right. He could smell the relief rolling off of Blaine’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. He swallowed thickly, and then added, “I should probably ask your father to take me back to the school now. I can see about coming back after practice if you want me to-”

“Don’t,” Kurt cut him off politely. “You’ve done so much for me today. Go home and relax. I’ll be fine.”

Finally, the grip on Kurt’s hand loosened. “Yeah, okay,” Blaine nodded, a small curve lifting the corner of his lips as he traced his thumb over Kurt’s knuckles. The smell-

A blush flooded into Kurt’s cheeks as he remembered. “O-oh,” he stuttered. “A-And I’m so, so sorry about… about Dr. Coni-”

“Oh,” Blaine simply said, his own face gaining color. “I-It was fine, I really don’t-”

“Oh god, no it wasn’t,” Kurt insisted, holding back a slightly hysterical laugh. “You had to _leave the room.”_

Blaine did laugh, just a chuckle. “I left the room because I could tell that having me there was making it worse for you.” Kurt hid his face in his palm and groaned. “I-I… better go find your dad,” Blaine stuttered, slipping his hands out of Kurt’s.

“Make sure he’s okay for me?” Kurt requested, worried.

“Yeah, do you…” the rest of the question was asked with a look.

Swallowing thickly, Kurt answered. “No, I’ll talk to him. Tell him… Tell him that I have a plan, and that I’ll explain when he gets back. He’ll have a lot of reassurance knowing that you’re looking out for me.”

Nodding, Blaine made his way over to the door. “He’s just… scared, Kurt,” he repeated.

“I know,” Kurt held his own hand, remembering the way Blaine’s thumb had swiped across it. _Me too_ , he thought to himself.

_o-O-o_


	7. Chapter 7

_o-O-o_

In the end, Kurt remained in the hospital completely healthy and concussion free for two and a half days, until Sunday night when Dr. Coni finally had to admit that he didn’t have any more tests to make Kurt suffer through. He was happy to be out from under Dr. Coni’s insistent hand, and sleeping and bathing in his own home again. Blaine visited him for several hours both days, and his father never left his side- which Kurt protested as much as he could, saying that it was unnecessary and he should be managing his shop (he was honestly fine, and he knew one of the main reasons Burt was staying was actually because the Top Model marathon lasted the whole weekend).

His father only surrendered into letting Kurt address Karofsky begrudgingly; if it weren’t for the promise of Blaine being there with him, Kurt was certain he wouldn’t have allowed it. They had spent the rest of Friday night and most of Saturday morning arguing on-and-off about it, until finally Blaine visited again and the two of them spoke with each other out in the hall on the pretense of getting coffee.

It also helped that Blaine brought up changing Kurt’s second period to Glee. Remembering how he agreed to it, Kurt groaned inwardly when Burt immediately left to go to the school to work out the schedule change. His headache had just only subsided, and he was dreading Monday morning when it would flare up again from too-loud Jewish thespians working on their high scales. Burt also insisted that Kurt took up another clinical psychologist, which Kurt declined. They were short on money as it was, especially with the new hospital bills, and the government would have a lot of say in who Kurt would speak to. He had stopped attending meetings with the guy that was sent to fill in for his old psychologist because he had been openly sharing Kurt’s files with the government, and Kurt was certain that every person after him would be the same.

Burt offered to allow Kurt to skip school on Monday to relax (hospital rooms and needles and exercises and Dr. Coni were all horrible on his stress levels and he didn’t sleep as much as he needed to), but Kurt declined. He knew that the school would be buzzing with rumors about him leaving school early in an ambulance, and showing his able body sooner rather than later would hopefully squash the more ridiculous ones.

He met Blaine at coffee that morning unplanned, though he was pretty sure Blaine was hoping he’d be there just as much as Kurt was. The mutual agreement to start up a morning coffee routine went unspoken. As Kurt sat, sipping his coffee that morning and listening to Blaine fill him in on all of the required knowledge for being in the Glee Club (which was essentially just a history lesson on the love triangles and petty gossip), Kurt couldn’t help noticing how strong Blaine’s scent was. Unusually strong. It made him frown, but he didn’t have a way to explain it to Blaine when the boy asked.

Regardless of the intriguing smell, Kurt kept a safe distance. He didn’t want to freak the boy out any more than he already has. They made it to their classes on time, Kurt desperately ignoring the urge to sniff.

But even with the comforting aura next to him escorting him to his classes, Kurt’s skin was crawling with anxiety that had nothing to do with Blaine’s scent. Everywhere he went, the weary eyes of his judgmental peers hooked onto him. Kurt wondered what they all had been saying about him over the weekend.

If he had any hope that the day would get better with his schedule change, he had been wrong.

“I talked to Mr. Schuester before practice on Thursday and got it all cleared up for you,” Blaine was explaining to him on their way to the class. “You’re unofficially thought of to be an understudy in case we need an extra person for a competition, but I got him to agree that you won’t actually have to sing during practice if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to audition. You’re in as long as you don’t fall asleep and you at least pretend to be paying attention-”

“-And learn to not lash out violently at anyone for their numerous horrible renditions of top forty songs,” Kurt added sullenly. Snorting bemusedly, Blaine led him through the door. Kurt was already biting his tongue and forcing himself to stare at the dirty, tiled floor. The noise level in the room remained the same, as they had quietly entered the boisterous class unnoticed, so Kurt stole a look.

A diverse group of kids were all talking and roughhousing with each other animatedly. Mercedes was laughing heartily with Tina Cohen-Chang and wheelchair-bound Artie Abrams, and next to them laughing just as giddily was, to Kurt’s surprise, Santana, Brittany, and Quinn.

But it was the heard of letterman jackets that had Kurt spinning on his heal and darting right back out of the room.

He stormed a full three long strides before a hand grabbed his wrist; Kurt wasted no time turning back around to blow up in Blaine’s face. “ _Noah Puckerman_!” he bellowed, making Blaine flinch backwards, looking hurt. In the heat of the moment, Kurt felt no guilt. “Do you understand how many times he’s thrown me into a dumpster?! While Finn Hudson, and all of those other football zombies in there watched?!”

Eyebrows drawn up, Blaine floundered. It made Kurt even more scornful.

“This club is about making me feel fucking _safe_ ,” he cursed, not caring who was still wandering the halls to hear. “Fuck it,” he pushed away, “I’ll just go…” _Go where?_ Study hall was chockfull of jackets. This whole damn school was _infested_ with them. Maybe he’ll join another sewing class-

“Wait- Kurt, come on, listen to me,” Blaine stopped him with his plea, and his damn expressive eyes, and oh, fuck, there’s the guilt coming back to bite him in the ass. He grumbled, wanting to stay in his angry state but knowing that he couldn’t when Blaine pulled that face. “I had no idea that they did that to you in the past, but I promise you that all of those guys in Glee have made complete turn-arounds.”

Scoffing, Kurt rolled his eyes.

“I mean it, Kurt,” ever so slightly, Blaine brushed his fingertips over Kurt’s arms. It unleashed a spark that did nothing to help his nerves. “I won’t try to convince you, but I promise you that I know for a fact Noah Puckerman hasn’t done anything like that since the start of the school year.” Kurt was still dubious, so Blaine reassured him even further, “But even if they were just as bad as they used to be, I’m going to be in there with you. Quinn, Santana and Brittany can also look out for you if you need them.”

The bell rang, and Kurt knew not to continue arguing. He wouldn’t need any of their help; he can take care of himself. It’s not like he’s going to be interacting with the kids in the club much, anyway. Walking back inside the room the second time, they were a lot more conspicuous. Mr. Schuester was in the middle of his opening words to start the period, so when they slipped inside all eyes were on them.

In a weird attempt to stake his dominance, Kurt held himself a lot higher than he felt. He was clutching his shoulder bag rather tightly, but he managed to stare down every quizzical look thrown at him. “Kurt! It’s great to have you with us today,” Mr. Schuester greeted Kurt’s back, as Kurt had spotted the two empty seats in the back corner of the room and made a beeline toward them. “Everyone, this is Kurt Hummel-”

“Yeah, we know who he is,” Puckerman trumpeted, and Kurt almost snapped his own neck whipping his head around to glare at him. “It’s kind of hard to not-”

“Well, good,” Schuester cut him off short, clapping his hands urgently. “He’s going to be joining us as an understudy in case one of you have to miss a performance.”

“Did he audition?” Rachel Berry asked excitedly, and Kurt spared her no look.

“He doesn’t have to,” Schuester explained tentatively, “because he won’t be singing.” Regardless of how tentative he was, his words still evoked uproar.

“Isn’t singing the whole _point_ of glee club?” Artie asked.

“I could really use him to back me up on harmonies-” Rachel was insisting.

“Isn’t it unfair to the rest of us that he doesn’t have to audition?” Finn Hudson scrunched his face in confusion.

“How do we even know he can sing?” Sam Evans brought up, only to be hit in the shoulder by Mike Chang.

“Dude, I can’t sing either; maybe he can dance-”

Trying to restore the hierarchy in the classroom, Mr. Schuester spoke loudly. “The decision’s already been made. We already have 12 members, so we don’t technically need him, and he isn’t comfortable singing on a stage just yet.”

“So why is he _here_?” Puckerman spoke louder.

Kurt’s innards were boiling; he refused to let himself cause a scene right now because that was the last thing he needed. And he knew that if he opened his mouth to speak to them, all that would come out would be loud proclamation reminding them that they can all fuck themselves, because he doesn’t want to be in here with them either. Desperate, Kurt leaned over to Blaine and hissed ferociously in his ear. “ _Say something_.”

As if magically enchanted to obey Kurt’s order, Blaine stood up. “It doesn’t matter why he’s here,” he defended sternly. “The point is that he’s not here to sing; he’s here because it’s _safe_. That’s all that you guys should have to know to extend your hospitality to him.” The room quieted, save for Santana who muttered “ _You’re like a walking My Little Pony episode_ ,” in response.

Regardless, Blaine threw Kurt a couple of cautious glances, like a dog wondering if he performed his trick well, but Kurt couldn’t quite work out a response to show how he was feeling.

“That being said,” Mr. Schuester pressured the change of topic, “let’s get started on some vocal exercises…”

 

_o-O-o_

Glee club was a lot different than Kurt had expected in the sense that he thought the club would be rehearsing an already decided upon routine to nitpick for Nationals, which was only a month away. Instead, they worked on an assortment of numbers individually, bickering about what songs to do and whom to sing lead. This, for some reason, was tenfold more annoying than listening to the same song over and over again. He kept his jaw clenched tightly and did his best not to grind on it. Unable to hold in his resentment anymore, he actually allowed himself to growl when Tina Cohen-Chang tried to pick up a conversation with him.

“So I don’t have cheerleading practice after school today,” Blaine attempted to initiate dialog with him as they finally walked out of the choir room. He had tried many times during class, but Kurt’s icy silence remained no matter how many Madonna songs he mentioned. “Do you think we could get together or something? Don’t you have some TiVo-ed Project Runway to go through?”

Now out of the Peanut Gallery’s presence, Kurt had nothing to hold up the grudge that was preventing Blaine’s puppy eyes from getting to him. And as much as he would deny it out loud, Blaine’s unusually strong scent had wormed its way through Kurt’s shell. His sigh lasted a long time, feeling that grudge crumble and dissolve away with each glint of light. “I’ll fall asleep on you,” he said truthfully.

“What?” Blaine’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Oh,” he tried to catch himself, too late, “Oh, right, yeah, the hospital- you’re stressed- I get it-”

“No-, no, Blaine,” Kurt cut him off. “I kind of… always sleep after class. I need the extra hours or it can… be dangerous for my immune system.”

It took hardly a moment for Kurt’s explanation to sink in for Blaine to start babbling again. “Oh- Yeah, no, totally- that- that’s fine-”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt shushed him again, unable to control the corners of his lips. The way Blaine’s jaw shut was comically quick. A fresh wave of scent hit Kurt’s nose, and the corners of his lips betrayed him by pulling upwards even further as he rolled his eyes. “Fine, you can come.”

“Oh, no, you should sleep-”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt said for the third time. “I promise you I’ll be fine. Cheerio practice doesn’t cancel very often-”

At that moment, a completely different strong scent pulled a wave of nausea through him. His head spun with it, even after he clamped a hand over his nose to stop it from smelling. When he came to, Blaine’s hands were rubbing up and down his arms and holding him up against the row of lockers. “Are you alright? Did the concussion-?”

Kurt’s eyes flashed to where Dave Karofsky was staring at him from across the hall. His eyes were piercing and his face hard; it held a haunting of the look Kurt last remembered him with- or maybe his own mind was making that up. Evidentially Blaine followed his gaze, because then he was standing in front of Kurt to shield David from his view. One hand was on Kurt’s cheek now, and wave after wave of Blaine’s comforting scent forced itself predominantly to the front of Kurt’s attention. “Alright, let’s go, okay? Do you feel sick?”

As if not hearing Blaine at all, Kurt locked his jaw; something like courage flared within him. “I’m talking to him as soon as class lets out,” he promised.

“Y-… You sure?” Blaine asked him once, searching his face. Finding nothing there but determination, he nodded wearily. “Let’s go,” he insisted.

_o-O-o_

For some reason, the determination did not deteriorate. He waited outside Karofsky’s locker in a ballsy, yet arguably reckless manner. Thankfully, Karofsky was alone and unguarded when he looked up into Kurt’s unforgiving glare. The flinch he gave made Kurt’s spine fall even more ridged.

“We need to talk,” he barked, unwavering. Nonplussed, Karofsky scoffed and made to open his locker; Kurt shut it on him harshly before he could get it open. “ _Now_ ,” Kurt said more firmly.

Choosing a new tactic, Karofsky stepped forward, towering himself over Kurt. “You sure you want to do that?”

Tail twitching involuntarily, Kurt held his breath and started walking backwards, holding his glare up to the challenge. “I do.”

He turned and walked in the opposite direction, knowing he would be followed. Sure enough, the thunderous footsteps behind him shook the tiled floor Kurt was walking on. He was almost outside of the choir room when the strong hand spun him around and lifted him against the wall. “Hey!” Blaine appeared; he had been tailing them, quiet and unseen. He had an arm around Karofsky’s thick bicep before Kurt stopped him with a look.

Addressing Karofsky, Kurt spoke sternly. “Put me down.”

“What the hell kind of game do you think you’re playing, Pussy Cat?!” Karofsky’s hold on Kurt was going to leave even more bruises. “Or are you just going to lead me away to-”

“Either put me down right now or I will puke all over you,” Kurt spat bluntly, secretly hoping Karofsky would heed the warning with desperation because he wasn’t bluffing. He did, but slowly. Rearranging himself, Kurt nodded for Blaine to back away, and then turned himself into the emptied classroom.

Kurt waited for the door to shut behind David before he took a deep breath. His ballsy manner was dwindling within the confinement of the enclosed room, even with the knowledge of Blaine being right outside the door, listening carefully to come to his rescue if need be. He clung to the whiffs of Blaine’s scent embedded into his clothes, thankful that it was so strong today.

“You need to stop this, David,” he forced out of himself before his nerve disappeared completely.

Pulling a face, Karofsky’s voice fell harsh. “You really think you’re in a position to be telling me what to do?” Kurt winced at the tone, doing his best to hold eye contact.

“You _assaulted_ me-”

In a moment of hysteria, Karofsky slammed his hand down loudly onto the grand piano. Kurt let out a tiny yelp in fright, using everything he had in him to not flee out of the school upon instinct. It was quiet for a moment, save for Karofsky’s deep breathing, before he tried to cover himself smarmily, “As if that hasn’t been your wet dream for th-”

“The FBI asked me to give them your name!” Kurt said urgently. “Do you understand how much trouble you would be in if I gave it to them?” Scornfully, David’s jaw fell open. Voice wavering, Kurt continued, “You, more than anyone, know that I’m not normal. The government still has certain ownership of me in these kinds of situations. I’m talking about the _national government_ \- they want to take you to _federal prison_ for this, David!”

In a sign of nervousness, David swiped his nose and averted his eyes. “But you didn’t tell them.”

Uneasily, Kurt emptied his lungs. “You’re gay, David.”

“Wh- What the _hell_ did you just say to me?!” he shouted quickly, failing to hide his own shaking voice.

“You’re _gay_ ,” Kurt repeated bluntly, holding a stern look. “And you need to stop lying to yourself.”

Karofsky stormed at him, his footsteps pounding into the floor with every step he took. “I think you need to-”

Pulling himself out of an instinctive cower, Kurt raised his voice, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and holding it up to David’s face. “Do you not understand the fact that I can literally call _federal agents_ to come pick you up _right now_?!” Karofsky’s hand paused where it was just about to grab onto Kurt’s shirt. Slowly, it clenched into a fist. “And don’t think there isn’t any evidence. They only need me to say your name. You wouldn’t even get a full hearing,” he added spitefully.

The air was gushing in and out of Karofsky’s flared nostrils animalistically. He stepped backwards out of Kurt’s face as if pulled by chains. “I-I’m not-” he started angrily.

“You have got to stop lying to yourself, David,” Kurt repeated, using the glare Karofsky sent him to hold eye contact. “You’re using my tail as an excuse to attack me for what you really don’t like me for.”

“That you’re a faggot?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Kurt pressed, swallowing thickly at the language. “Do you really think that what you did to me was about asserting dominance? Because if that’s really what it was about, you would have gone through with it.”

“I couldn’t stand touching you anymore-”

“You liked it too much,” Kurt insisted, his throat congealing, trying to keep himself from speaking. “You used it as an excuse to get close to me, but you couldn’t go through with it knowing how much you liked it.”

“ _STOP SAYING THAT_ ,” Karofsky slammed the piano again, his voice oddly high pitched, dangling on the edge of breaking.

“Why are you so afraid?!” Kurt searched firmly. “Would you choose federal prison over admitting to being gay right here, with only me in the room? Because that is what is happening right now, David. If I’m wrong, and you’re not gay, then I am in actual danger and I am going to protect myself.” A glistening wetness was visible only for a second before Karofsky ducked his face into his hand and shivered. His face was contorted and red beneath it. After a moment, Kurt pulled the slip of paper out of his pocket. “I have a condition- other than to stop harassing me,” he said gently, holding it out for Karofsky to take. “I want you to go to this website. I already made the account for you, so you don’t even have to do anything.”

Unsettled, David lifted his head from his hand and stared at the piece of paper outstretched toward him.

“It’s an online LGBT support group,” Kurt explained carefully. “Everything is completely anonymous; you can clear your browser cookies right afterwards and no one will ever have to know, if you don’t want them to. Take it,” he insisted. Uncertainly, David took it; the paper crushed into a ball in his fist, but it wasn’t thrown or shredded into pieces like Kurt feared. “I want you to check it out. Read what some other kids are saying. You have that account, and I promise you I won’t look in on anything you do on it. On the bottom are several links to resource sites that will give you a glimpse into what it is like to be a rape victim. I need you to read it and understand how _real_ what you did to me was- the actual _damage_ you could have caused.

“I need you to know right now that I am not coddling you. If you so much as flex a muscle at me from now on, I am going to protect myself. What you did to me was disgusting and vile, and you do _not_ deserve any form of sympathy. You could have taken _years_ of recuperation therapy for my sanity and wellbeing off of me, _and I need you to know that_. I am choosing this method because you can _learn_ , and no one’s going to teach you in prison. You can become better than what you are right now.”

Karofsky was no longer glaring at him, but rather at the clamped hand he had around the piece of paper, his breath still coming out harshly and his eyes glistening dangerously. Even when Kurt tempted walking around him toward the exit, he didn’t move. For a moment he pondered adding a final word before slipping out, but he decided against it.

_o-O-o_

“You sure you don’t want to just sleep?” Blaine asked for the hundredth time as they pulled into Kurt’s driveway ten minutes later.

“A couple of episodes of Project Runway won’t kill me, Blaine,” Kurt rolled his eyes and shut off the ignition. Honestly, he was thankful for the distraction. He was certain his mind would be running too much from the confrontation with David to sleep; he was still vibrating with nerves, and Blaine’s scent was definitely helping calm him down.

Despite how much he wanted to, Kurt knew that he wouldn’t ask to explore the smell this time; so what if it was unbearably distracting today? Blaine didn’t deserve to be attacked again. Kurt could control himself.

They stepped out of the car together and headed for the front door. Blaine kept wiping his hands on his pants; for once he was able to change out of his Cheerio uniform for an afternoon, “I know, but you’re really stressed, especially after that conversation, and- what’s that?”

In a moment of horror, Kurt stared down at the large pile of cat food lying heaped on his front porch. “O-oh, that’s, um-” fruitlessly, he tried to stand in front of it to block it from Blaine’s view. He could already feel his face tinting with heat.

“Who put that there?” Blaine inquired, eyebrows furrowed in a hard line.

“I-It’s nothing-”

“It’s not nothing-”

“It happens all of the time; it’s nothing,” Kurt spat rudely in a random flash of anger. Unable to watch Blaine flounder, he set to work unlocking his house and throwing the bags inside.

Blaine said nothing, still stony but weary from Kurt’s outburst, and helped him carry the last of them in the house. “How often?” he probed curtly once they were inside.

Licking his lips, Kurt slipped his shoes off. “Most days.”

A moment of silence, and then, “What do you do with it all?”

_o-O-o_

And that was how they instead ended up in the animal shelter that afternoon; Kurt had to explain why the lame prank did not get under his skin as much as it should. Kurt’s pile under his bed was getting rather large, anyway, and Blaine insisted that he wanted to help.

“Kurt!” Shelby greeted him when he walked through the front door, Blaine hidden behind him at first. “Oh,” she blinked in surprise when she caught sight of him. “And who is this?” she said, an air of something flirty in her tone, and _damn her, she knows who this is_.

As politely as he could while holding onto his box of canned cat food, Blaine waved. “I’m Blaine, Kurt’s- friend.” Kurt tried not to clench his teeth at the term. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Well, ‘ _Blaine, Kurt’s friend’_ ,” Shelby teased, and Kurt felt like hissing at her, “you can just put that stuff around here and meet everyone else. My name’s Shelby.”

“Kitten brought a boy with him?!” Kurt heard Sheryl wheeze from inside the office, and Kurt seriously tempted running. “Where is he? Why haven’t I met him yet?!”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Kurt huffed under his breath, but nevertheless opened the door.

He was greeted with an uprising of ‘hello’s and barely had time to set the stuff he was carrying on the table before he was pulled into Jackie’s embrace. Before he could say anything, Sheryl was pointing her cane at Blaine. “You,” she demanded as Blaine rested his load on the table on Kurt’s lead, “come here.”

Bright eyed, Blaine made the mistake of walking toward her- and was greeted with a great _thwap_ of her cane to his side. He flinched in pain and Kurt was by his side in an instant, pulling him away as she warned, “You do anything to hurt my Kitten and I will pummel you, you hear me?!”

“Sheryl!” Kurt heard his voice echo alongside Jackie’s, “Don’t assault the kid; you’re scaring him away!”

As if not hearing either of them, she turned to Kurt, “He does anything to you you kick him in the nuts, baby.”

Horrified, Kurt turned to Blaine immediately, “I won’t be- kicking you-” he assured with as much dignity as he could muster. Blaine stared at him with befuddled, terrified eyes.

“Now _really_ ,” Jackie smacked Sheryl in the arm. “You’re giving all of us a bad reputation.” She reached her hand out to Blaine, who eyed it cautiously, “I’m Jackie, and I won’t be hitting you with any canes any time soon.” An echo of a smile that was unable to fully form on his lips, Blaine shook it.

“I’m Blaine,” he introduced himself meekly.

The door behind them burst open. “A _boy_?” Michelle called into the room, pulling everyone’s attention. _What is with these women?_ Kurt thought to himself acidly. A whiff of a putrid smell caught Kurt’s nose just as a sickeningly jumpy Aussie dog followed her in on the leash and made a dash toward Blaine.

The dog bounded upward at Blaine’s face, looking to lick and spittle all over him. “Oh, hi!” Blaine said cheerfully, crouching down on the floor to the dog’s height to scrub over its mangey neck. A violent course of anger surged through Kurt at the sight; the mutt was getting slobber all over Blaine’s face and masking him in its stench- it would only be a matter of moments before its stink would surely deplete all of the glorious fragrance Blaine was producing for him today. His hand pulled up on the back of Blaine’s shirt until Blaine was standing again. Ears flattening on top of his hair, he let out a long, distinguished hiss.

Now barking madly at Kurt, the dog strained on its leash. Michelle tugged it back out of the room, “Oh, sorry, Kurt, I didn’t know you were in there! I’ll go put her away, hold on,” Growling in response, Kurt waited until the door was shut again before he let his guard down.

When he did, he realized that he had been manhandling Blaine’s bicep, trying to shield him from the mutt with his body. Blaine was giving him an amused smile; a low growl persisted under Kurt’s order, “Don’t touch the dogs.”

“What, you don’t like dogs?” Blaine joked lightly, and Kurt glared at him. He would have responded, but he had more pressing matters: flattening his tail back to its normal state.

“Oh, Kurt, Daisy wouldn’t hurt you,” Jackie assured him, but he rolled his eyes. “She just wants to smell you a bit.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to smell it,” he spat bitterly, holding his tail close and combing through the furs.

“Don’t be a cliché.” He stuck his tongue out at her.

“I always tell ya Kitten, ya just gotta show them who’s boss,” Sheryl reminded him breathily. “Bite em’ in the ear. Dogs are all about dominance. They’re real sweet when they’re trained.”

“I’m not putting my face anywhere near one of those beasts.”

Knowing that Kurt wouldn’t budge in this conversation, Sheryl nodded toward Blaine again. “You,” she demanded again. “Sit.” Cautiously, Blaine turned to Kurt for guidance this time. “I’m not gunna hit ya again. Not unless you do somethin’ to deserve it.” Blaine didn’t look convinced until Kurt nodded at him. They both pulled up a seat around the table.

“Oh, Sheryl,” Jackie sighed, leaning against the counter. “I told you to leave the boy alone.”

“Hey! Is Kurt your Kitten? No, he’s _mine_. So shut up,” Sheryl told her, and Blaine looked like he wanted to laugh, but was unsure about if he should or not. “I just need to make sure he’s safe to be around my Kitten.”

“How many juvenile delinquents do you know that wear bowties and high waters?” Jackie argued, and Blaine sent him an indignant pout. Kurt was unable to come to his defense because… _well_.

Puffing out her chest, Sheryl noted pointedly, “Plenty of bad boys gel their hair!”

“Only ones who stepped off of a time vortex from the fifties.”

“Will you stop laughing?” Blaine asked Kurt incredulously, and Kurt tried to sympathize, he really did.

The door opened again, and both Michelle and Shelby entered and sat around the table with them. “Are you two debating whether or not this kid is trustworthy enough to trust with Kurt?” Shelby asked around, then continued, “Don’t you think our boy is trustworthy enough to take care of _himself_ without all of us meddling in?”

“Thank you, Shelby,” Kurt told her meaningfully, patting her hand and giving her a smile.

Sheryl clicked her tongue and eyed Blaine carefully. “Boys can be deceiving at that age.”

“But look at this face,” Michelle grabbed Blaine’s chin so that his face tilted up from where it was trying to hide. Blaine, who tensed at first at another woman coming at him after what happened the last time, let her pinch his cheeks good-naturedly. “Does that face look like it would hurt our Kurtsie?” She dropped him and leaned back in her seat. “I know a pair of honest eyes when I see them.”

“There she goes with her Southern Talk again,” Sheryl groaned.

“And getting more Northern by the minute around you folk,” Michelle defended herself.

The door opened once more, halting the conversation as Brittany came into the room exasperatedly. “Tibbles just puked in her water dish again. I think she needs more medi- _Blaine!_ ” Her face brightened as she saw her friend, ready to make a dash over to him until she saw Kurt sitting in the seat next to him. Her expression dampened guiltily.

“Oh, Brittany!” Blaine called out to her in surprise. “I forgot you were working at an animal shelter- I didn’t even think.” She smiled back at him brightly through her cautious glances toward Kurt.

“See, Brittany likes him,” Jackie smacked Sheryl on the arm, as if that settled the matter.

“Good charm can wrangle even the best of us,” Sheryl retorted, struggling to get up out of her chair. She hobbled over to a cabinet and procured a bottle of medicine and a dropper. Slapping the bottle down on the table, she lowered her voice to Blaine. “Why don’t you go help Brittany give Tibbles her medicine.”

Obviously terrified, Blaine’s eyes retreated back to Kurt, asking something of him. There was a strange pit in Kurt’s stomach. He expected Blaine to get a warm welcome here; it was Kurt’s sanctuary more often than not, and he didn’t count on Sheryl to not like him. He sat up straight in his seat and gave Blaine a small nod. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he assured, gripping Blaine’s tight fist once before ushering him up. He might as well take up the opportunity to argue his independence and trust in Blaine without the added embarrassment of having him in the room listening.

Out of sheer politeness Kurt knew was etched into Blaine’s good manners by whatever parents he had all his life, Blaine sent a hopeful smile to everyone in the room as he left with Brittany. “It was nice meeting you all,” he said, but Kurt wished he wouldn’t; to anyone that didn’t know Blaine’s character enough to know that he was being completely sincere in saying so, that line might sound like he was sucking up.

The door closed, and, to Kurt’s surprise, Sheryl was cackling. The words on his tongue he had at the ready to lash out jumbled. Insanely, Sheryl slapped her hand on the table again, “You better hold onto that one for as long as you can, Kitten!”

“I-” Kurt drew his eyebrows in. “What?”

“Oh, damn you, Sheryl,” Shelby cursed, though she was giggling. “Why are you scaring him if you actually _like_ him?”

“Gotta assert dominance,” she justified, “just in case it’s ever needed. But I don’t think that boy’s got an ounce of bad stuff in ‘em. Maybe a little oblivious, but Kurt can handle that. Whip him up a bit.”

Sighing, Kurt let his face fall into his hand, a little relieved. Poor Blaine is probably cowering in the Cat Room right now, nothing but a bundle of nerves. The loss of Blaine’s scent was evident, but Kurt could almost smell the anxiety in the lingering whiffs.

“You know, I _did_ mean it though, Kitten,” Sheryl spoke to him, more seriously. He looked up at her quickly. “If he ever does make a mess of things and hurt you, my cane is always here for you to thrash ‘em with.”

Shaking his head, Kurt allowed himself to give her a small smile, which soon faded. “He smells like my dad,” he said in a small voice. The girls all cocked their heads, a few raised eyebrows. “Like- _safe_. He smells safe.” He spared a look up toward Jackie, who was smiling at him warmly.

“After meeting him, I think you should trust those instincts,” Michelle nudged him with her elbow, and he drew in his eyebrows again.

“You guys barely talked to him.”

“Call it those _honest eyes_ ,” Sheryl joked.

Michelle rolled her own eyes, “Ironically enough, though, he does have a hard case of puppy-eyes,” The other girls all giggled, but Kurt didn’t quite catch the joke. He raised an eyebrow at them curiously. “Oh, come on, Kurt, don’t tell me your hyper-senses didn’t pick up on any of _that_ ,” she teased, but Jackie interrupted by quickly motioning for Kurt to stand.

“Alright, alright,” she nagged the rest of the room. “Kurt, why don’t you go ease that boy’s nerves a little bit; and in the meantime go bring us back the rest of that stuff in your car.”

Still out of the loop, Kurt heeded her advice and slipped of the office and found where Blaine and Brittany were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the Cat Room, a young ginger cat cleaning her face between them.

As usual, the impact of smell from the Cat Room was intense; it felt like walking into a wall. He could also smell Blaine strongly, stronger than he remembered him being just ten minutes ago, but he supposes both the absence and the amplification of all the other smells somehow brought it out. He must have forgotten how strong it had been earlier, with all of the reek of the shelter distracting him. His vision spun for a moment, dizzying him. He stumbled back into the door from the impact.

“Kurt?!” Blaine had stood up as if the floor zapped him.

“I’m fine,” Kurt assured him, waving off the hands Blaine was offering to keep him steady. He let the crest of the sensation pass, but for some reason he still couldn’t look up at Blaine. “We should go get the rest of the stuff from the car,” he diverted.

“Oh, actually,” Blaine turned hopefully toward Brittany, who lay quiet on the floor, “Brittany was wondering if she could talk to you for a minute.”

At the moment, Kurt honestly didn’t have an opinion toward whether or not he wanted to have that conversation; he was too concerned with getting his clear vision back. “Yeah, yeah- but let’s have it outside or something- the smell in here…”

Kurt’s dizziness didn’t subside as much as he would have liked it to by the time they made it out to the car, but it was enough that he could walk straight. His heat sometimes did this to him: dizzy spells triggered by smell. They never lasted long, especially not this far away from the sickness.

“Santana said I should apologize,” Brittany mumbled guiltily to him, helping him unload his car. Kurt’s ears perked, but he said nothing. “She told me that what I said to you the last time we talked was really mean, but I didn’t mean to be mean to you, Kurt. I like you. I didn’t know you don’t like being a cat.”

Pursing his lips, Kurt listened to her. Blaine’s scent was now numbingly strong, though he couldn’t tell if Blaine was exuding it more so than he usually does. It was more than distracting. He tried to focus on Brittany’s apology as best as he could, but he could barely hear her.

“I think you’re totally awesome, Kurt, but for a lot of stuff besides your tail. Santana told me I should have told you about those instead of the parts of yourself that you don’t like. I get why you don’t like when people focus on those parts now,” she explained, still muttering sadly. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t understand why you wouldn’t like who you are when I think you’re so awesome.”

Slowly, Kurt nodded. “Thank you, Brittany,” he swallowed thickly. “I should apologize for not explaining anything to you. For walking out. Santana… had a talk with me, too.” Though he supposed the ‘talk’ he had with Santana was a lot more hostile than hers was.

A bright smile broke across her face. “So you don’t hate me?”

He smiled back as best as he could. “No. But no more assumptions that I eat animal food.”

“I don’t know why you don’t try it; the Turkey Dinner flavor is so good,” she said nonchalantly, and Kurt almost dropped the stuff he was carrying.

They made their way back inside and deposited their items, saying a final goodbye to the girls as he and Blaine departed. Blaine fumbled nervously around Sheryl as she continued her act of eyeing him down. When they got outside, Kurt decided to spare him.

“She’s just putting up a front,” he told him. “She wants you to be afraid of her, but she actually really likes you. She doesn’t honestly think you’re bound to be an asshole.” Still, Blaine raised his eyebrows dubiously. “You’d have to know her to know that that’s how she works. The other girls-”

He lost his footing on the gravel due to a spike of fuzziness in his vision. He blurred out for an instant, and suddenly Blaine was holding him up. The spark of his touch ignited something within him from deep in his belly-

And there it was. The pull first of his heat.

For a wild moment, Kurt intended on crashing their lips together; he wanted to hitch himself on top of him and rut and feel and suck every last breath of that scent his body offered. Visions of unclothed bodies and hickeys and the stretch, the pull- he was aching with the need for it, for _all of it_ to overcome him. To give and to take, to spread himself open and present-

But as quickly as the wave came it disappeared, leaving Kurt breathless and dizzier than before. The fear struck; here he was, in Blaine’s arms- _Blaine_ who was talking to him right now, saying something quickly with those worrisome eyebrows quivering upwards- experiencing his first pull of heat of the season. He knew that more would come, probably not tonight, but tomorrow, to warn him of the real thing that would come in a few days’ time. For now he was aching in a _lot_ of different ways; he knew that the dizziness was related to his heat, but never had a pull come so quickly after having it. Typically, he would have these spouts for a few days. Had his lead-up effects been so mild they were unnoticeable?

_Was Blaine’s smell today part of it too?_ He asked himself, feeling offset and uneasy about the idea.

The urge to kiss was still there, not as strong, but still urgent. He pulled himself out of Blaine’s hold. “I-I have to go home,” he stumbled to his door and pulled it open.

“Wait- I-I don’t think you should drive like this, Kurt, you’re-”

“ _I’m fine_ ,” Kurt hissed, a little too animalistic. “I really have to get home,” he repeated direly.

Blaine let him get in, quickly asserting himself into the passenger seat, and _shit, he had to drive Blaine home, shit shit shit-_ He started up his Navigator and took off out of the small parking lot. _Calm down_ , he tried to tell himself as he whizzed through stop signs. _It was just one pull; you know that the next one won’t come for at least several hours._

Still, he made it to Blaine’s house in record timing. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Blaine asked again; Kurt thanked every celestial being ever made up by human kind for giving Blaine a rather oblivious streak when it came to noticing the tenting in Kurt’s pants. He supposed Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were the ones to thank for making him such a gentleman. “Kurt, you look really red, do you want to come lay down for a little bit-”

“I really have to get home,” he insisted yet again, his hands turning white on the steering wheel.

“You’re going feint, Kurt; what if it’s from your concussion? Or a fever?” Without warning, Blaine leaned across the console and put the back of his hand to Kurt’s forehead.

The second pull raced through him with even more urgency than before. It was suddenly daunting that there they sat in Kurt’s spacious car outside of a dark, quiet house. There was room in the back seat to spread out, lift his tail and let Blaine take everything he had in him- or even right here up front, over the console, spread, filled, skin, _release_ -

He sucked in a gulp of air as the sensation passed. He had grabbed onto the hand that touched his forehead sometime during the pull _\- the pull. A second pull_. It had been only twenty minutes after the last one. He could feel a hauntingly familiar hotness building low in his gut. He dropped the hand.

His heat was coming.

“ _I have to go_ ,” he said again, horrified by how quickly the usually torturously slow process washed over him.

“Kurt, I don’t feel comfortable letting you drive anymore-”

“ _Get out_ ,” Kurt growled loudly, because Blaine didn’t get it- _why didn’t he get it? Why can’t he understand how imperative it is that he leaves Kurt right this instant?!_

“Kurt-?”

“ _OUT_.”

Blaine scrambled out of the car quickly at Kurt’s raised voice. “Please don’t, Kurt, I’ll drive you- I’ll-”

“I’ll text you when I get home,” was all Kurt gave him before rearing out of the driveway and disappearing down the street.

_o-O-o_


	8. Chapter 8

_o-O-o_

Kurt was hardly through his front door when the hotness fully consumed him. Even with the coldest setting of his air-conditioned car on, he had been panting and sweating on the drive home. He took two steps into his sweltering house and the need to be unclothed persisted. He shucked off his shirt, undershirt, shoes, and socks at the front door, made a mad dash to the kitchen to fill the largest beer mug in the house with water and ice, and threw himself downstairs to sit under the cold spray of water from his shower while his high-tech air conditioner brought his room down to a bearable fifty degrees.

His shower didn’t last long; it was far too cramped in the little space. He was sprawled out on his bed in nothing but his underwear, resisting every urge to touch himself and make his symptoms worse, when his father ran down his steps, took one look at his son, and instantly understood what Kurt’s frantic, nearly unreadable texts meant.

“ _It happened so fast_ ,” Kurt explained breathlessly, swallowing thickly more often than was necessary. His breathing was deep and quick, and he had nothing in him to be embarrassed to be seen by his father in such a state.

“How fast?” Burt asked him.

“I-It was like… thirty minutes,” he said between breaths, gripping his hands into the pillow behind his head to make sure they didn’t stray. “The whole thing. The dizziness. Pulls. Whole thing happened… in half an hour.”

Burt was quiet for a moment, “I’ll call Dr. Coni,” he said from the top of the stairs.

_o-O-o_

And thus began Kurt’s week of literal internalized hell.

There was something wrong with Kurt’s DNA. All evidence the government has looked into says that this particular reoccurring anomaly shouldn’t happen like this. They think that perhaps the man who created him made a mistake, that DNA is not supposed to be messed around with the way he had. When cats experience heat, there is no evidence that they go through just as much as Kurt does. They have no other way to explain what it is that Kurt goes through other than to use that term. For one, only female cats experience ‘heat’. Dr. Coni thinks that his creator tried to stimulate the symptoms of heat into Kurt’s DNA and that something along the way went wrong and amplified them by accident. Kurt, on the other hand, thinks that his creator amplified them on purpose because he was a sick human being.

The heat was unbearable, uncontrollable, and inarguable. Clothing was intolerable; it was far too hot for anything more than underwear. His body would ache, every muscle on fire. The only temporary cure any of them were able to find was sexual release, but even then it only gave him ten minutes of semi-relief.

Kurt preferred to suffer through the aching.

The only thing Kurt could stomach during his heat was water and raw meats. Once a day, Kurt had to force down a special vitamin-rich shake to keep from starving himself of certain necessary nutrients. Twice a day, Kurt threw himself into an ice-cold shower to rid himself of built up sweat.

Despite himself, Kurt yearned for any and all forms of affection. He wanted to cuddle, his ears rubbed, to butt his head into a warm body and spread his scent until it dominated everything. Human flesh to him was cool and refreshing on Kurt’s skin, though it did nothing to squander the fire in his bloodstream. It was harder in this state to ignore his natural Cat side.

Dr. Coni arrived late in the night. He brought equipment with him to monitor Kurt. As per the court hearing, the doctor was only allowed 24 hours to assess Kurt on emergency visits unless Kurt or Burt requested more- something Burt and Elizabeth put in place to make sure they didn’t use it to hold Kurt under surveillance longer than necessary. Dr. Coni always used up every last minute. They tried a new drug, which did not work, and took a lot of blood samples for testing; maybe next year they’ll have a cure. At least Kurt being on an IV drip meant that he didn’t have to drink the awful shake for a day.

At around evening time (Kurt wasn’t in a position to really know the time), Dr. Coni sat down by Kurt’s bedside opposite Burt. It was strange. He was usually bustling about, taking tests and analyzing them, all the while looking far too enthusiastic. It was strange for him to ask to have a meeting with them, considering he was often talking out loud about his ideas and findings for them to hear whether they wanted to or not. It’s not like Kurt really could walk away from his bed at all, so they agreed to a ‘meeting’.

“Well,” he said brightly. “I think it’s time we talk about Kurt becoming sexually active.”

Kurt did not have the energy in himself to tell him to stop talking, but thankfully Burt worked past his own reserves and raised his voice, “I think that _Kurt_ should be able to choose that time for himself.”

Dr. Coni raised his hands as if to calm Burt, but he was still smiling that awful, infuriating smile, “Of course, of course, but research is all pointing in the same direction. The only relief he seems to ever have is after an orgasm, and his pheromone levels seem to be extraordinarily heightened. He is coming to full maturity, now, and a lot of us at the lab think that it’ll bring some sort of release. I know we’ve talked about masturbation in the past,” if it were possible for Kurt to blush past all the flush of heat the sickness already gave him, he’d be doing it, “but it doesn’t seem to be cutting it.”

Swallowing thickly, Kurt pulled away from where his father was letting him nuzzle his face in his hand. He didn’t really feel comfortable cuddling his dad during this conversation, despite how much the sickness was drawn to it. Burt cleared his throat, “There is no definite that it’ll cure anything. He’s not ready to share that with someone yet.”

Yup. Here Kurt was, listening to his father talk about his sex life with a doctor basically _prescribing_ him sex. “Mr. Hummel,” Dr. Coni leaned forward in his chair with an air of concern Kurt knew he didn’t actually have to compacity to have, “this is about what’s best for Kurt. He’s forced through this agony every year. We can’t seem to find anything to cure it. Shouldn’t we explore all the options we’ve got?”

Burt’s anger swelled, “Not when you’re forcing him to become sexually active before he’s ready. He’s only seventeen!”

Dr. Coni spoke as though the conversation was pleasant, making eye contact with Kurt and still smiling that damn smile. “Well, we certainly would not force someone on him!” he laughed, as though it was all a joke, as though if they had his way Kurt wouldn’t be subjected to a lifetime of unwanted needles and experiments. “But it is something you should consider thinking about. He’s almost eighteen now. A lot of adolescents his age have already started their own sexual journey. Kids are just getting younger and younger when they start becoming sexually active.”

Burt yelled sternly. “You’ve got four more hours to finish your _research_.”

“Mr. Hummel-”

“Why don’t we go upstairs and talk about this,” Burt stood up suddenly, his eyes challenging. Dr. Coni shrugged animatedly as if it was all a big laugh and stood up to follow him.

They disappeared up the staircase, leaving Kurt in agony on his bed. He could still hear them, but the pain made it harder to focus on them, and his father calling Kurt a ‘victim’ made him lose any desire to listen at all. Without anyone else in the room, it was harder to keep the desire to rub himself off at bay. He hated succumbing to masturbation during his heat. It was bad enough masturbating on a normal day, but when he did during this…

This is what his creator made him for. This week of hell was all because he was created for sex, to be someone’s personal, living toy. Back when he still had his old therapist, she had worked on reprogramming his thought process about sex, but Kurt had only been thirteen when she was taken away from him. There was only so much his age permitted her to work with. Even then, how was he supposed to work past this? This irrefutable, undeniable aspect of himself that would do nothing but remind him of his creation as an object of lust. Kurt _wanted_ sex; he was a teenage boy, after all. And he’s pretty certain he’d be fine having sex with a boyfriend, when the sex was about him, and about their relationship.

But his heat was not about him. And it never will be.

A buzzing brought his attention to where his phone lay on his bedside. He took a swig of water before picking it up.

_So by absolutely no correlation, I happened to have just made a pot of soup. Would you like me to bring some over? –Blaine, 8:46pm_

Blaine. Kurt had told him that he was down with the flu, so his response was to cook a pot of soup. He felt guilty lying to him, and over text it had been easy to type the words, but they had been eating at him. But now Blaine had cooked him a pot of soup.

Blaine…

Kurt felt himself going dizzy. Blaine. Blaine Blaine Blaine. The image of Blaine underneath him flashed in his mind’s eye, of licking along Blaine’s throat-

He swore at himself. What the hell was he doing? That memory of Blaine was awful and embarrassing and…

In need of a distraction, Kurt… texted Blaine.

_You really should not come over here right now. And I don’t think I’ll be able to stomach it, anyway. But save me a container for when I’m feeling better? –Kurt, 8:49pm._

Dr. Coni had prescribed him sex. Repulsed as he originally was, suddenly the thought flipped over in his mind. His pheromone levels were raised higher than usual this year, and Blaine smelled so differently from everyone else. But it’s not like- certainly, he smelled different because he was also gay. Kurt didn’t have any other gay men to notice this on. Karofsky, but there’s no way in hell Kurt would ever consider Karofsky to have a good smell. He couldn’t smell anything off about Santana or Brittany, but then again maybe it didn’t work like that for him because they were girls. It had to be his body telling him there was another gay male present.

 _That’s awful. I’m sorr_ _y._ _:( There’s kind of something that I think I need to talk to you about. Do you think we could meet up somewhere private when you’re feeling a bit better? –Blaine, 8:50pm_

Kurt’s heart thudded in his chest, but he didn’t have time to process it all before he received another text.

_God, that sounded terrible. It’s nothing bad, I promise. Kind of embarrassing (for me, not you), but I think we should talk about it. –Blaine, 8:50pm_

What did that even _mean_? Something Blaine wanted to talk to him about that he was embarrassed to say, but not too embarrassed to not talk about it at all. He couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around it because he was still trying to battle his pain level. He sipped more water. For some reason, Blaine was not a good distraction for his hormones.

Kurt didn’t let himself think about it anymore. He sent: _It might take a while. When I get sick, it usually renders me useless for a week. But yes, we can certainly talk because I am fully concerned and not in the least bit intrigued. –Kurt, 5:54pm_

Blaine sent him nothing but a smiley face in return, and Kurt spent longer than necessary staring at it. He definitely, definitely needed to stop thinking about Blaine.

_o-O-o_

The week passed in what felt like a month. It was both better and worse without Dr. Coni. Burt had taken the day off to make sure Kurt was safe with him, but he still worked on the other days. He came home often, though mainly to make sure Kurt drank that awful shake. By the following Monday, Kurt was feeling much better. His heat was all but gone; he chose to have the day off from school to make up for some much-needed rest, as well as to perhaps get a start on the mountain of school work his guidance counselor brought him Friday night. His body still ached, but he could stand to be in proper room temperature, and finally did not feel inescapably horny.

Relocating to his sunroom was amazing. Kurt was downright sick of the look of his room; the change in scenery was well appreciated. The air smelled fresher up here, but then again Kurt was living in his own sweat down in his room. There was only one window down there, up high near the ceiling, and if he opened it there was a chance of the dirt from the ground around it falling into it. Kurt had removed the air-conditioning to open it now with one fan drawing air inward and one pushing it out. It was all he could really do besides dousing the room in air freshener, which Kurt hated doing. He liked his things to smell like him- though, a healthy, moderate amount.

He was still lonely. Now that Kurt could feed himself, Burt was spending the whole day in the shop. Kurt felt as if he hadn’t seen another human being for a decade, and even though he detested the kids at his school, it would be nice to at least hear a second voice.

So he couldn’t stop himself from texting Blaine after he woke up from about twelve hours of solid sleep. In truth, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from texting Blaine all throughout his sickness. He had never had someone to text before, and Blaine was great at conversation. Kurt himself was terrible. Blaine seemed to understand that Kurt was bad because he was apparently on his deathbed, and Kurt wasn’t going to correct him for the time being. He’ll learn how to text eventually.

_So… about that soup. –Kurt, 3:33pm._

Miraculously, Blaine did not have Cheerio practice that day. It was super difficult keeping up with Sue’s insane schedule; apparently, they didn’t have set days because she needed her athletes to be as flexible as possible in every sense of the word.

The doorbell rang, Kurt springing upward in excitement. Upon opening the door, Kurt was hit with a wave of Blaine’s scent. He was worried for a moment that he would have the same issue about letting Blaine into his home as last time, but today he welcomed it, because Blaine was another person and Kurt craved companionship. Typically, Kurt was quite introverted, but a week of solitary confinement would torture anyone, even without the physically affectionate side effects of his heat.

Past Blaine’s smell, he could also smell the soup Blaine was carrying in a hot bag. “We have a stove I could have reheated that on,” Kurt said in greeting.

Shrugging, Blaine stepped inside. “I didn’t want to have to dirty one of your pots.” Ever the gentleman. Kurt stole a glance at Blaine’s outfit; he was dressed smartly, a fashionable blue and yellow bowtie over a white button up, and blue pants that fit him… Kurt ignored the pants. “And I remade it for you yesterday. I didn’t want to bring you week-old soup.”

Shaking his head, Kurt chuckled, “I haven’t eaten actual food in a week. I’d probably be able to eat from the garbage right now.” He grabbed himself a spoon from the kitchen, then led Blaine toward the sunroom. “Let’s go in the back.” Setting his food down on the coffee table, Kurt unlatched the top of the Tupperware bowl. Stomach growling at the smell, Kurt took his first bite and all but moaned. “Oh my _god_ , Blaine.” It was the first non-raw food he had eaten in a week, and there were vegetables and chicken and a spice to it; probably, Blaine had added the spice to clear Kurt’s sinuses. Because he thought Kurt had the flu. The lie hit him again.

Sitting down on the sofa away from Kurt, Blaine began rifling through his bag. “Sorry I’m sitting so far away. I don’t think I can afford to catch whatever you were just out with.”

Swallowing a mouthful of soup thickly, Kurt cleared his throat. “It’s not… contagious.”

“Oh. Are you on antibiotics?”

“Um,” a pang of guilt hit Kurt hard. Blaine was looking at him with those honey colored eyes, wide and expressive and Kurt had _lied_ to him. His tail began to tap against his leg. “I don’t actually… have the flu, exactly.”

“…Oh?”

Dear god, Kurt cursed inwardly to himself, because now Blaine was looking confused and probably hurt, because Kurt _lied_ to him. “I have… side effects. From being born in a test tube.”

“Oh,” Blaine mouthed more than said. Worrisome, he set the book he had gotten from his bag on the coffee table. “You seem uncomfortable. We don’t have to talk about it.”

A punch of air kicked out of Kurt. “Thank you.”

Smiling at him, Blaine gestured to the space between them. “Well, if you’re not contagious, then,” and then he moved closer and the air _really_ kicked out of Kurt. The first intake of breath after that was so full of Blaine Kurt felt himself getting dizzy again. Obliviously, Blaine flipped open his textbook. “We should probably start with going over the last thing you learned in Chemistry, because I don’t quite know where you left off.” Blaine was also here to help him catch up on his work.

Stealing himself another bite of soup, Kurt tried to stop his tail from its tapping. “Didn’t you… have something to say to me?”

He watched Blaine stiffen and keep his head down in the text book. “W-We should study, first.”

Okay then. Kurt himself was pretty anxious about what Blaine needed to talk to him about, so he definitely wasn’t going to argue against that for the time being, even if it was eating away at him. So they studied, and instead of the secret, Kurt learned that Blaine was an excellent tutor. Of course he was; he was patient almost to a fault and disgustingly smart.

They had caught up on Chemistry and were moving on to Trigonometry. Kurt wasn’t very good at math, but Blaine was already taking a Calculus class. Kurt preferred English, and though he never got terrible grades in his math classes, he had to work hard to keep a B average. But when Blaine was explaining formulas, he actually understood why the numbers worked the way they did. Kurt voiced this aloud to Blaine, who looked sheepish.

“Math, yeah. But I’m not great at writing essays,” Blaine said modestly, taking the light off of the compliment as much as he could. “Like, I’m good at writing, but writing essays is completely different. The whole research process of it, and annotations and works cited and all that.”

“Researching for essays is awful,” Kurt agreed. He wondered if Blaine had as much trouble expressing what he wanted to say on paper as he seemed to do out loud.

When they had caught up with Trigonometry, they decided to retire. Making up a week of work in two subjects was more than enough, and Kurt had to be going insane because it was getting harder and harder to focus when Blaine was sitting close enough that they brushed elbows every so often. It was getting a bit hot, and maybe Kurt wasn’t as over his heat as he thought he was.

They naturally delved into a few different topics, about Dalton and then about the Cheerios. But Blaine still hadn’t told him what he had wanted to say and it was unnerving. Eventually, Kurt had to address it. “Okay, you really need to say what you’re trying to stall talking about now, because I think my brain’s going to explode if it doesn’t get resolution soon.”

Face flushing with color, Blaine ducked his head. “O-oh. Sorry. It’s kind of… really embarrassing.”

Guilty for having made Blaine uncomfortable, Kurt backtracked, “You don’t have to. Sorry. I’m just really curious. But if you really don’t want to, I promise I won’t ask again.”

“No, no. I think I have to tell you,” Blaine amended, and his face was incredibly red. “O-otherwise you’ll think- I mean, you probably already _do_ think, but.”

He stopped there. Kurt urged him, “But, what?”

Laughing uneasily, Blaine began to explain, “So you know how- and, I don’t know if you see it this way or not. But it kind of feels like I’m trying to force a friendship out of you?”

Dumbstruck, Kurt cocked his head. “I don’t-?”

“Well I don’t- I,” god, Blaine’s stutter. Kurt felt bad for him, because he obviously had something important to say, and Kurt was making him nervous. Kurt didn’t know how to calm him, though, so he let Blaine work it out. “And maybe I am, I don’t know, but I really need you to know why, otherwise you probably think that it’s because I like, have a thing for your tail or something, and I don’t ever want you to think that this has anything to do with that.”

Eyebrows pinched, Kurt squirmed for a moment, “So then what is it about, then?”

Blaine’s throat worked over so hard, Kurt was sure it had to hurt. “You don’t remember it at all, do you?”

“Remember what?” Kurt asked, completely thrown.

Sighing shakily, Blaine folded his hands on his lap. “When we first met.” Kurt frowned. They had only known each other for a month. He thought back to their first encounter- crashing into each other in the hallway. But he couldn’t imagine what was so significant about Kurt running away the way that he had. “When we were seven.”

And that really threw Kurt off.

“It was at the park. The one off of Birch Street?” Blaine started fidgeting with his hands. “There were these kids that wouldn’t leave me alone. My brother was going after this girl and he didn’t even see me, but the kids kept throwing sand and woodchips at me. It got all stuck in my hair, and they just- kept pushing me to the ground and calling me names. And then you- you just walked up to them and told them to stop. You were like this- this bright light of someone who actually _cared_ when Cooper wouldn’t pay attention to me and my parents were always gone. I- ran away, when you distracted them. I found Cooper and he took me home, but it wasn’t until we were pulling out of the parking lot that I realized that I had just- just _left_ you with those kids. They were all so big-”

It seemed impossible that the two of them could have met before Blaine had transferred when his scent was something so demanding and important to Kurt. He would remember the smell, if anything else. Kurt had an excellent memory as a defense mechanism. If someone so much as frowns in Kurt’s general direction, Kurt will remember it until the date he is cremated as someone to steer clear of. He can recall faces from years ago he’s only seen once at the mall or that have walked into his father’s shop. Blaine would definitely be someone he’d remember, wouldn’t he? But it’s not like Blaine could be confusing him with another boy with a tail, so it had to have happened.

“-and I felt so guilty about leaving you with them. I was terrified that they were going to hurt you, but I was too scared to do anything,” Blaine admitted, his hands wrangling together. “After that, I was so angry with myself that I made a vow to always intervene when I saw someone getting bullied. What you did really shaped a huge part of who I am.”

And then Kurt remembered not the smell that so surrounds Blaine now, but a different smell. Like raspberries. “Oh my god,” he exclaimed, pulling Blaine’s focus. “I can’t believe you used to gel your hair when you were _seven_.”

Blaine chuckled, and Kurt’s memory came back to him. Thinking back to that day, Kurt had to have actually been eight, because he was going to school at the time. He remembered the shy boy with woodchips stuck in his hair gel and feeling so sad that his pretty white cardigan was getting all dirty because some other kids were throwing sand on it. He couldn’t recall much after going over to tell the other kids to stop being mean, and he wasn’t sure how badly they had retaliated to Kurt. But Kurt’s mother was still there, and she often intervened, so it shouldn’t have been too bad. It had just been another day being tormented by the other kids.

But it wasn’t just another day for Blaine. He was looking down at his hands again. “Yeah. I just wanted to tell you about that. Because I don’t want you to think that I’m just trying to get to know you because… because I don’t know,” _because some people fetishize my tail_ , Kurt finished for him in his mind. “I’ve always felt guilty for deserting you. So when I met you again, I kind of felt like I had to make up for that. Like I said,” he shrugged bashfully. “Embarrassing.”

“That’s actually the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” Kurt said trying to sound uplifting, but he actually felt pretty dizzy and it only made Blaine blush more. “I really don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything to it,” Blaine chuckled nervously. “I just wanted you to know that, so you didn’t think it was all coming from nowhere.”

“Thanks for telling me.”

“Yeah. We can change the subject now.”

“Can we change it to the fact that you said your brother’s name was…”

Blaine stiffened noticeably, and if it was possible, his face went even redder. “Um. D-Did I say his name?”

“Cooper Anderson is your brother.” Blaine’s brother being The Cooper Anderson, as in ‘ _THE Cooper Anderson That Kurt Totally Did Not Absolutely Pine Over_ ’, was news within itself. A year or two ago Cooper landed himself a commercial that bought him localized Ohioan fame, and Kurt _definitely_ didn’t spend minutes at a time rewinding his DVR back thirty seconds over and over again to watch it on repeat. Kurt _totally_ didn’t have the jingle he saved as a ringtone on his phone and he _absolutely_ did not once spend over ten minutes staring at a wonderful half-naked picture of him in a bathing suit ad. “Well, your genetics definitely make sense.”

Wincing, Blaine grumbled, “I’d like to think they don’t.”

So, evidentially Blaine’s not a fan of his brother. “Okay, then,” Kurt said awkwardly.

“That came out- listen, I love my brother,” Blaine reconciled quickly. “I don’t love his ego.”

“And you don’t love when people fawn over his commercials,” Kurt fed him, and Blaine’s eyes widened at him in fear. Well. Kurt can definitely get over that little crush. The tabloids say that he’s straight, anyway. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Kurt asked to change the subject. “I have those episodes of Project Runway on my laptop.”

“That sounds great,” Blaine sighed, clearly relieved.

They watched an episode together, the laptop perched on the coffee table in front of them as they leaned back on the couch. Blaine seemed to be even closer this time, they were brushing arms so often Kurt thought he was going to have a heart attack for the amount of times his heart stopped. Kurt had his tail in his hands, brushing over the long hairs to give them something to do. He was feeling awkward about them.

Blaine was a great reality-show companion. He could keep up with Kurt’s comments the way that Burt never could and would say things to add to the enjoyment of the show without hindering it or talking over it. It occurred to him that he never got to watch anything with someone other than his dad about midway through the first episode. He did not voice that out loud.

It was all innocent, them laughing together and banting over this television show Kurt had playing on his laptop. But then Blaine needed to reach over him to grab his phone from where it buzzed on the opposite side of the coffee table, and Kurt had Blaine’s hand on his shoulder for balance and their thighs were aligned, Blaine stretching his neck in front of him and it should have been _innocent_ if it weren’t-

For the smell. It hit Kurt hard when it conjoined with those acquitted touches. And Kurt was definitely, not completely over his heat, because his pants were suddenly too tight and Blaine’s lips suddenly too pink. Blaine pulled back as if there was nothing wrong, thumb swiping the passcode in to unlock his phone but he was _thrumming_ against Kurt’s side.

Kurt was an idiot. What was he doing, inviting Blaine over the day after his heat? Because now he had tainted a perfectly innocent moment by getting a _boner_ because Blaine _touched_ him. And because he smelled so good. Because- god, they were _pheromones_. Kurt could smell Blaine’s _pheromones_. Because they were both gay, and because Blaine had never done anything to make Kurt hate the smell like the only other gay guy he knew. And now Kurt had a boner and Blaine had pheromones and Dr. Coni prescribed him _sex_ -

“Are you okay?” Blaine asked him, because Kurt must be radiating his awkwardness.

Quickly, Kurt minimized the video player on his laptop, not caring what other screen he left open. “Do you want popcorn?”

“Oh, um. Sure,” bless him, Blaine could read that Kurt didn’t want to talk about what just made him so uncomfortable, and let Kurt hurry out of the room on the pretense of snacks. Kurt just hoped he couldn’t see the tenting in his pants as he stood.

He spent longer than necessary preparing the air-pop machine. _Stupid stupid stupid_ , Kurt repeated like a mantra in his head, willing his erection to go away. All Blaine did was reach for his phone. All he did was lean close to Kurt. He watched the level of popcorn rise up out of the machine and scolded himself. Eventually, his problem started to subside.

It wasn’t right for him to be popping boners around Blaine, he thought to himself as he spritzed the butter evenly. He was too… Kurt shook his head. Just because Kurt liked the way he smelled didn’t mean he had any right being inappropriate. Blaine had no idea what was going on. It’s not like he can control how he smells. Kurt finally, for the first time ever, had…

A friend.

Kurt stopped his movements. A friend. He was friends with Blaine. At least, he thought he was. They seemed to enjoy each other’s company. Sure, he just learned that Blaine had reached out to Kurt because of some inane childhood circumstance, but they were just laughing together, and Blaine held his hand back in the hospital, which is what friends do, right? They talked and texted and Blaine seemed to care about Kurt’s wellbeing. And Kurt cared about Blaine’s. Friends. He couldn’t let himself mess this up because of his dumb over-sensitive nose and disgusting spring-time health condition.

When he was certain he was no longer at risk of embarrassing himself, Kurt returned with a large bowl of popcorn. “Okay,” he faked brightness, setting the bowl down on the coffee table, “we can commence marathoning.”

Blaine looked slightly uneasy, though, and for a second Kurt thought the worst. Had he seen his boner? Did he think Kurt just left to go jerk off? But then Blaine pointed to the laptop screen. “You kind of clicked something before you left, and I-I stopped it, because I don’t think you really wanted me to see it.”

Heart thudding, Kurt turned his eyes to the screen to see himself pixilated. He felt his face heat up again. “O-Oh. That’s…”

It was his video. He must have accidentally clicked on the other folder in his videos file. “Kurt, I’m really sorry,” Blaine apologized.

“No, no- it was my fault,” he assured, but Blaine still looked like a dog who had just been stricken by its owner. Taking pity, Kurt sat down next to him. “It’s really nothing, Blaine. That video is… it’s actually just a therapy thing that I do.” Blaine tilted his head, so Kurt explained, “My old therapist used to do this activity with me. I would vent all of my frustrations on video, and then we would make a show of deleting it to let it go once we talked through it. Sometimes I need to vent, so I try to mimic the strategy. That was just one of the videos.”

“One of the videos?”

Smiling sadly, Kurt looked downward, “I haven’t gotten around to deleting them yet, because I haven’t worked through the problems.”

“I’m… sorry you’re struggling,” Blaine said, and he sounded so earnest.

They were friends. Blaine didn’t seem like he was running away any time soon, and Kurt had never had a friend before. Perhaps it was that that made him offer it, but he found himself asking, “Do you want to watch it?”

Blaine stared at him blankly. “You would trust me with that?”

And Kurt’s tail was tapping again, but something rash within himself said, “Well, you told me your embarrassing secret.”

A bashful smile appeared on Blaine’s lips, and Kurt’s stomach flipped. “I’d love to watch it,” he said.

Kurt pressed play, and they watched him vent. About midway through, Kurt had second thoughts about showing this to Blaine. It was, after all, quite personal. But Blaine seemed completely focused on it, concentrating intently on the most embarrassing part where he talked about how society treated him and how he was afraid of his future. The video ended, and Kurt reached over to close out of the window.

“Kurt…” Blaine trailed. “I’m so sorry.”

Doing his best to shrug it off, Kurt humored, “As you can see, I have a lot of resentment.”

“If people knew the things that were on this video, they would be so much less vicious to you,” Blaine thought out loud. “I had no idea your mom died like that. That’s awful.”

“God, no, no they wouldn’t,” Kurt shook his head. “They would call me whiny.”

Blaine was staring at him with such intensity that Kurt had to look back. His eyes seemed wet. “Why would they call you whiny?”

“Blaine, everything about that was whiny.”

Now his eyes were definitely wet. “No, no it wasn’t. Not at all. Kurt, no one should have to go through even half as much as what you have. The things you were saying were completely justified.” Clenching his jaw, Kurt looked away. He could see a picture of his mother hugging him resting on the bookshelf, which didn’t help. “More people should know about these things.”

Defensively, Kurt closed his laptop so that it slammed perhaps harder than he intended. “Well excuse me if I don’t just go posting it to YouTube.”

“What- no, Kurt, I mean like-” Blaine retreated, turning to face him. “Like telling a few friends or something. I don’t mean ‘show the whole school the video’. Just talk to people, you know?”

“Well I don’t _have_ friends,” he spat harshly. “And even if I did, how the hell would I just start blabbing about all that? Who’d want to be friends with me after that?”

He jumped as Blaine took his hand in both of his, bringing light to what he had just said. Kurt felt hot shame leak down into his stomach. “I still want to be your friend,” he said, twisting the knife in Kurt’s heart. “And we don’t have to do anything, Kurt. I was just saying that I think if more people knew about all of this, I think people would be nicer to you. Because it made me admire you more than I already had.”

Kurt felt like an asshole. “Oh,” he breathed, because it seemed like that was all he could manage with Blaine looking at him like that. “Okay.” He swallowed down whatever was blocking his throat. “We probably have enough time for one more episode before you have to go home.”

_o-O-o_

The following week had him drowning in his work like he always was after his heat. It was hard to keep up, especially because his harassers seemed to miss beating on him. By the end of the third day, he had five new bruises, one of them from how hard he was rubbing his temples to keep his headaches at bay. Thankfully, Blaine was walking with him in between a few class periods, which helped, but Santana and Brittany were also there on a few occasions, which was a little awkward. Brittany was fine; she was still as ditzy as ever, but something about it was starting to become endearing. Santana on the other hand…

Santana was acting strange. She was glaring at him and kept sarcastically asking him if he wanted to talk. On behalf of Blaine, Kurt bit back his reply about how _no, he definitely didn’t want to talk to her, why was she even walking with them,_ every time she asked. He thought it might be her way of trying to become friends, in some weird, roundabout way, but if it was he can’t imagine how anyone chose to befriend her. She sounded like she had something unholy hanging over him every time she asked.

He thought he would just have to put up with her when Blaine was present, but several times she caught up with him while he was alone, only to have the strangest conversation about how yes, Kurt was doing fine, and no, he didn’t have anything to tell her. He really had no idea what she was getting at, and frankly he was beyond irritated.

“Hi, Kurt,” she had smirked, sliding into the empty chair closest to him at his table in the library on Friday. “Beautiful day.” Suspicious, Kurt squinted his eyes at her and turned in his laptop screen slightly away from her, exuding an aura of seclusion he hoped she’d pick up. She didn’t. “What are you writing.”

“Currently, not much, as you might be able to tell,” he spat sweetly. “It’s hard to write when you keep seeing a brunette ponytail swishing out of sight behind bookcases.”

Her smile widened. “Hard to believe you could get writers block with all of the juicy material you must have, with that life that you live.”

Hands freezing over his keyboard, Kurt bit tightly on his tongue. “What do you want, Santana.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see if finally getting some prime hair-gelled action would make you less of a bitch. Guess not.”

Kurt snapped his head toward her, anger flashing white-hot. “What are you even talking about?”

“Oh please, Kitten, you and Blaine are canoodling,” she said, and Kurt’s eyes went wide. “It’s so obvious.”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“Come on, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she smiled horribly, flashing her perfect teeth at him. “Actually, it’s quite an achievement. Blaine’s a hottie, and he’s totally husband material. If he wasn’t such a raging homosexual, I’d have banged him already. It’s nice for Blaine to be able to have someone tap his perfectly baked ass.”

Face bright red, Kurt snapped, “You’re a lesbian, Santana. Go make-out with Brittany and leave me alone.” Her smile fell instantly, and Kurt did feel a pang of guilt. It’s not like anyone heard him; he and Santana were the only ones in the library, and their whole conversation was being held in whispers. But he got over his guilt quickly; if Santana could dish it out, Santana should be able to take some. For good measure, he added, “Blaine and I are _friends_ , for your information. We haven’t done anything and we don’t plan to, not that it’ll ever be any of your business.” Kurt snapped his laptop closed and stood up, relocating to another table out of sight.

What even was Santana playing at? Coming up to him and demanding that she knew that he and Blaine were… Kurt shook his head to clear it. It was none of her business, and it wasn’t even true. Why did she even care? Was she trying by some weird way protect Blaine? Her senses were clearly as off as her social skills.

Hours later as Kurt was finishing up putting his encyclopedias back, he caught another swish of a brunette ponytail bouncing its way behind another bookcase.

Perturbed, Kurt did his best to ignore her. He knew she was probably radiating with rage, but honestly he didn’t want to spend another minute thinking about her. Deep down, he knew he felt bad about outing her, despite there being no other witness around when he said it. Perhaps he also felt a bit of fear; Santana was an ugly enemy to have, and everyone in McKinley knew that. He chose to ignore her.

That night, he came home to a surprise; his father insisted Kurt get a private check up away from government eyes with _Nurse Carole_. She had come over to assess some of Kurt’s vitals, which was conveniently strange. He had felt perfectly fine all week.

His father had successfully used Kurt as an excuse to get a girl to eat over for dinner. What’s more is that he somehow had her number and she agreed to do it for free and off-of-the-books. He surreptitiously feigned fatigue right before dessert to spy on them with his bedroom door cracked. He had been _elated_ when conversation broke for _just_ the right amount of time at the front door as she was leaving (followed by lots of stammering on Burt’s part).

Kurt fell asleep that night pointedly not thinking about Santana, and instead choosing to ponder over his father’s endearing love language. What could she possibly even do to him that could make his life worse, anyway?

_o-O-o_


	9. Chapter 9

_o-O-o_

For once he had woken up five minutes before his alarm that Monday, completely awake and ready to start his week. There was a pit of anxiety in his gut that he couldn’t place. He spent all morning going through his brain, but he certain he wasn’t forgetting anything. He was positive he didn’t have any tests, and that it wasn’t some important date. Sometimes Kurt just got anxious, so he did his best to ignore it and got in his Navigator, heading for the coffee shop.

_Something’s already off_ , he thought to himself suspiciously; he immediately shook his head. _Fuck off, Hummel. You’re being too jumpy._ What could he possibly be forgetting? When he parked his car, he realized that he hadn’t turned his phone on. He sighed at his internal misgivings, powering up the device. Not that it really mattered; the only person who ever called him on it was his dad, and occasionally Blaine would text him.

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

_Or occasionally Blaine would text him a lot, apparently_. He frowned, scrolling through the messages quickly, because honestly, was he meant to read all of that? Kurt wasn’t used to texting educate. There was an awful lot of ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’s and no actual explanation, though, and that made him stop in his step and frown further. He pocketed the phone, bent on getting the real story straight from Blaine’s mouth in a couple of moments.

Blaine definitely looked frazzled. His hair gel wasn’t as expertly done as usual, and his bowtie was fairly crooked. He had a rather twitchy look about him; Kurt contemplated confiscating the coffee in front of him and not letting him drink any more. Blaine hadn’t seen him walk in, too transfixed on staring at the back corner of the table and looking like he was a second away from bursting into tears. Kurt could already feel his anxiety heightening. “Um… _Blaine_?” he worried.

Blaine had jumped so high he hit his knee against the underside of the table. “Kurt-” He stood up quickly, banging the table again; he would have knocked over the full cup of coffee had Kurt not caught it in time. “I am so sorry. I am so _sorry_ \- I didn’t know she would- I _shouldn’t_ have- I didn’t _mean_ to-”

He really did burst out into tears. Panic shivered through Kurt. He grabbed onto Blaine’s shoulders and forced him to sit again. “ _Whoa_ , okay, calm down. Please calm down. Please don’t cry.” Kurt’s tail began tapping and flicking about, dread stirring low in his stomach. But this could just be _Blaine_ ; Blaine was always too concerned, too hard on himself. “Wh- What is- What happened? What’s wrong?”

“You-” Blaine’s eyes went wide, filling his air with lungs. “Oh my god- you don’t- you don’t even-” He buried his face in his hands. Kurt waited for him to emerge, but it didn’t happen. He reached his hand over the table to try and console him, which rested on Blaine’s shoulder for only a second: Blaine slapped it away.

Kurt fell back, stricken. He wasn’t very good at consolation, but he knew it wasn’t something _he_ did that had Blaine weary of Kurt’s contact. Blaine’s eyes glanced around the shop nervously, breathing in another gasp. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he was mumbling, barely audible. “Especially if you don’t _know_ -” Confused, Kurt followed the path Blaine’s glances had gone- and he froze.

Literally every eye in the room was on him. Some were peering from behind plants or cups of coffee- most were blatantly gawking.

All of the air in Kurt’s lungs vanished. His body on instinct tried to make itself smaller, his Cat trying to get him to flee but his human was too stunned to understand it. “Blaine,” he mewled.

“Come on, we have to go-” Blaine reached out to grab Kurt’s hand, but this time Kurt pulled away, before he could make contact.

“ _Blaine_ ,” he warned again, louder.

Blaine broke again, “Oh god, I’m so sorry-”

“ _Blaine_!” Kurt spat venomously.

“I didn’t- I don’t even know how she got it!” he started, at last, his voice just a hiss above a whisper. “I didn’t expect her to- I thought she was just listening to me vent! I don’t know _why_ she would do something like this-”

Fed up, Kurt spoke through his teeth, “What the _hell_ are you talking about?!”

“ _Santana has your video_!” Blaine whispered.

Blood pounded in Kurt’s ears, drowning out the sound around him. He could hear his own heart beating in his chest, the rhythm itself perceived in slow motion. He could feel every eye in the shop crawling on him, feel their owners’ every torturous movement in the thrumming of his bloodstream. Vacantly, he saw Blaine’s mouth working words over and over again, but none of them meant anything. He needed to leave. His feet had already taken him out of the door, but he couldn’t tell, with this warped sense of time, if he had walked or ran.

Santana doesn’t have his video; the whole world does.

How could he have been so senseless? So careless? She must have gotten ahold of his laptop, somehow- perhaps in the library? How could he not tell this would happen? Had his instincts been hindered? Maybe they had been off, blindsided. He was so- so _stupid_. How could he have risked himself like that- opening up the most guarded parts of him because of some-

Some _boy_.

The world around him snapped back into focus like a rubber band. He was in the parking lot, and his hand was stinging. In front of him, the bright pink of Blaine’s cheek. The run home felt a lot more vivid than the one out of the store.

_o-O-o_

He was all over the internet.

He turned his laptop on for only a moment in a reckless attempt to know more. His anonymous Twitter account had been discovered- he had a thousand new followers where he never allowed himself to have over twenty. His message inbox was filled with words he refused to read. There were glimpses of links to the YouTube video every which way his glances took him- links that he didn’t dare click. He didn’t want to know the number of how many people have watched it; he didn’t want to know which version she stole.

Thoughts were coming back to him- dark thoughts. Ones he’s long since been the master of. He didn’t trust himself; he called his father.

The first thing Burt did when he walked through the door was check him over; Kurt hadn’t been descriptive on the phone about why he was hysterical and needed him. Afterwards, Kurt buried his face as deeply as he could into his father’s chest and wept. His diction needed work, but eventually Burt heard enough of the story to understand.

He felt numb. He hadn’t moved off the couch in hours, and frankly he couldn’t even name some of the movies his father had put in to give Kurt the pretense of doing something. He had his large, fluffy blanket around him though, and occasionally his father would sit next to him for Kurt to lean on. Several times Burt tried to strike up conversation about the video, about Blaine, about completely unrelated topics, but Kurt made it very clear in his noncommittal grunting that he wasn’t up for conversation. He knew his father would weasel it out of him eventually. He knew he was being dramatic, but right now he needed his mental space.

Sometime in the afternoon, the doorbell rang. He _knew_ it was Blaine. Sliding down on the newly vacated couch as his father answered it, Kurt focused himself for the first time in hours. Something inside of Kurt tensed with pride when he heard his father’s protective tone. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here.”

But whatever bright feeling had risen in his chest dimmed when Blaine’s weary, shaking voice echoed through the hall. “I know. I know… I’m not- I’m not here to talk to him,” Kurt’s jaw clenched tight, holding his tail in close to his chest and running his fingers through the soft hairs. “If it were anything else, I might, but I’m not-… not right now.” He took a steadying breath, his voice cracking despite it, “I just-… wanted to know if he was okay.”

Kurt could tell Burt was aware of Kurt’s acute hearing in the slight pause- also by the fact that he was not chasing Blaine down the block with his shotgun. “He’s not,” he said bluntly, trying to keep his voice down. “But we’ll get through it. I think you should leave now.”

When Burt returned to the couch, he hugged Kurt extra tight.

The next time the doorbell rang again, it was the girls from the shelter. He didn’t have the heart to talk to them; he asked Burt to not let them in. The third doorbell was Nurse Carole. Kurt let her in solely for Burt’s company. He also knew that she wouldn’t say one word.

But even with her pleasantries and delicious consolation muffins, the day was suffocating. Burt wouldn’t let him turn on the television, which meant that Kurt’s video had grown out of the internet and there was an imminent risk of catching the segment on the news. He was getting frustrated with Burt and Carole pretending like nothing was wrong, though the frustrations clashed horrendously with his determination to not talk about it. It was a vicious cycle. He stayed in his sunroom long after the sun had gone down, desperately ignoring the two of them inside plotting and worrying.

_What would Blaine be doing if he was here right now?_

_Blaine can go fuck off_ , Kurt hissed to himself venomously, a bubbling poison flaring in his chest. He seethed for a moment before some type of guilt arose next to it. The guilt made him angrier. _This is his fault. I’m allowed to hate him._

But the dam of numbness inside of him was cracking, and he wasn’t sure what type of emotion it was going to flood him with. It felt _wrong_ to be angry at Blaine, even though he knew he had every right to be. If he hadn’t trusted Blaine, the scent-

His mother was smiling up at him. He found himself in his sunroom, looking at the picture of her with her arms encompassing a smaller version of himself, who, too, was smiling. The picture was taken only a quarter of a year after Kurt had been freed. He didn’t smile often back then- he supposes he doesn’t smile often now. In the picture, he had just truly started to feel and recognize the comfort and joy of a mother.

What would she tell him now, if she were here to advise him? What would she say to him? How would she hug him, comfort him, make sure things ended up right?

But the mother behind the glass only continued to smile.

She wasn’t here to guide him anymore. All he had left of her was his own memory; times when he had been absolutely awful to her, times when she persevered through to him- she always did in the end. No one ever truly understood how to do that- not his father, his old therapist... She had her own fierce determination that outdid Kurt’s. She could feel for her child in the way only a mother can.

He thought very much of her when he shoved his books into his backpack early the next morning. “Where are you going?” his father asked, dumbfounded and sleep-crusted at the foot of the stairs as Kurt stuffed his feet into his boots.

“School,” he replied.

_o-O-o_

There wasn’t a single glance toward him that Kurt didn’t stare down. His spine felt like it was encased in a metal rod. He flicked his tail at anyone who dared to inch close to him, and, for the first time ever, he hissed unashamedly- at Jacob Ben Israel, who had tried to approach him with a camera. He completely skipped second period. None of the staff in the library seemed brave enough to tell him off.

In third period, a freshman Cheerio interrupted his class with a note in her hand. “I’ve got a request from Coach Sylvester. She wants to see Kurt Hummel.”

He didn’t care how awkward he made the rest of the class feel; he flashed his eyes up at the chalkboard and leaned farther back in his chair, tail flicking, arms crossed, and lips tight until she cowered away and the teacher tried to babble herself back on track with the lesson. The class was too scared to even murmur their gossip in his presence.

Ignoring Sue’s request didn’t bode well with her; she tried to corner him in the hallway after his class ended. “Now now, Kurtie Cat, you don’t seem to be the type to skip out on tea parties-”

He spun on his heel immediately, “And you don’t seem to be the type to understand common decency. I am not one of your little minions. I am not going to hightail myself around this school whenever you pull your strings. You have no ownership over me. The position of power that you hold over people resides on fear, and I’m not afraid of you.” He flicked his eyes down her body, checking her over, “I am, however, afraid of your hair. I have never seen anything as quite dry before, and quite honestly I’m surprised it hasn’t burst into flames yet.”

Her lips were perched tight. “Are you done?”

“Not really,” Kurt smirked. “Your track suits hold no purpose either fashionably or practically, being I’ve never seen you pace faster than a strut and you struggle opening up your cans of illegally imported protein powder. Your insults get lame and repetitive, and your insistence upon making your girls dress in their skimpy Cheerio uniforms every hour of every day has seriously made me consider reporting you for pedophilia threat. Oh, and those horse estrogen pills you’ve been taking do not help your increasing lack of femininity.”

“Well, maybe if you stopped hogging it all the rest of us wouldn’t have to try so hard,” she countered.

“And maybe if you didn’t lose yourself if your God Complex all of the time, people would actually like you,” he scrunched up his nose. “But neither of those things seem very likely to happen, do they?”

“ _Preach, preach, preach_ , Kurtie Cat,” Sue smiled faux-warmly. “That seems to be something we have in common. So why don’t you and that stick up your ass come with me and we can bond over it.”

She made to grab his arm, but Kurt’s ever-fast reflexes smacked her away before she got the chance. “I thought I made it quite clear that that wasn’t going to happen. You’re not even technically a _teacher_ at this school. I’m not interested in anything you have to say to me.” He started walking away, “Now me and this stick up my ass are going to have a ripe old time in class, getting an education.”

News of the very loud conversation between him and Coach Sylvester must have reached everyone’s ears as well, because he kept hearing snippets of their conversation repeated all throughout the school. For the rest of the day, only one other person dared to speak to him; and it was definitely the last person Kurt expected.

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” The meek voice of Mercedes Jones appeared next to his table as he poked at his school lunch.

The sudden acknowledgement caught Kurt off guard. “I-… What?”

She had a rather determined look in her eye. “This seat is open, right? Can I sit here?”

Eyebrows popping high on his head, Kurt’s jaw clenched. He swiped a glance over her outfit; bold, but perhaps a bit reckless. He could feel the rumble of a growl in his throat threatening to grow louder. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he spat bluntly, turning back to his plate.

“Okay…” she hesitated, still standing behind him. Kurt’s tail flicked in annoyance. “You know, this isn’t about gossip. I’ve been trying to sit next to you for like two weeks, but you haven’t been here.” Kurt spent all of last week studying during his lunch period.

He whipped his head back around, hackles raised. “You can tell Blaine he can stop dominating everyone around him. If he tries to send someone else over to babysit me, I’m going to gouge out their eardrums so that they can never hear another one of his tyrannical requests again.”

Her eyes bulged comically. “Um. I don’t talk to Blaine.” He squinted at her. “I don’t know if you could tell, but we kind of run on different paths in this school. He’s nice, but he’s also competition for solos in glee club. He’s almost as bad as Berry.”

He was having a hard time judging her. If it was true and Blaine didn’t send her, then the reasoning as to why she was here felt even more dangerous. He was about to open his mouth when she stopped him.

“I already have one asshole, so I’m going to stop you from ripping me another like you did Coach Sylvester in the hallway earlier,” she began. “If you don’t want me to sit with you, whatever. I can take a hint. You’ve been through enough this week; and to be honest, you’re kind of scary on a _normal_ day.”

And she took her tray and left, leaving Kurt as confused as ever.

After her, Kurt didn’t have anyone come up to talk to him for two days. He maintained his flawless, icy exterior whenever he could. Slowly, he started to feel like he was becoming a shell, like he was losing himself to his persona, but there didn’t seem anything left in him to fill it anymore. He went to class, stared down anyone who he could hear gossiping about him, and shut down anyone who tried to start a conversation. Still, he clung to this new persona like life support. It kept him standing. It was impenetrable from the outside. Every lingering stare strengthened it, gave it reason to be. He could feel them layering on him, feeding and replenishing the shield. The only thing that could break it had to come from inside of him.

The first crack was seeing Blaine again.

He had made himself spend time in public by some demented rule about not backing down. His sleep schedule was off-balanced, and he needed to right it as best he could; he skipped his afternoon nap, which would have probably only been for 20 minutes, in favor of coffee so that he could hopefully crash later. Halfway through his second cup, the dreaded smell filled the air.

Blaine was near the opposite side of the shop, but somehow they both spotted each other at the same time. He could hear the deafening crack inside of him. One hard, living jolt that hit him with every past emotion Kurt has ever felt about the boy. The blow fizzled down into something passionate and longing as he took in Blaine’s appearance. His skin looked sunken and peaky, his lips dry, his hair duller than usual under its helmet of hastily applied gel. The uniform was gone, replaced by a rather plain checkerboard polo.

It was like someone had stepped on Kurt’s chest. In that moment, Kurt wanted nothing more than to bury his face in Blaine’s neck. Then Blaine had broken their connection, apologizing to Santana and leaving out of the door without his cup.

The realization that Blaine had been meeting Santana should have sparked his anger, should have added a thick layer to his shield. But it didn’t. It still felt wrong. He watched Santana run after him, wishing desperately that he could follow instead of her. Once she was out of sight, he pressed his fingertips into his temples. The anger had finally come, but it was at himself for being so bad at protecting his own stability.

Like a whirlwind, Santana was back.

She didn’t seem to care who she knocked over in her rampage toward Kurt. “You are the most egotistical, self-pitying, unappreciative little _bitch_!” And just like that, layers upon layers painted on over the crack. She had started screaming words in Spanish at him; Kurt only worked out glimpses, having taken French every year he could. If it weren’t for a rather large barista who had a hold of her middle, she would have been on top of him. “ _You think you can just walk all over him like he’s your fucking_ toy _! Don’t you for a second think that you have_ ever _deserved him_! _He gives you everything, but you’ve never given a_ shit _about him!”_

Kurt’s rage had reached its flooding point. Any words that could come out of his mouth would be lost in incoherent, animalistic gibberish. He threw himself at her. His fist could only grab a small clump of hair before someone else was grabbing him around the middle, preventing him from charging straight forth. The hold was easy enough to weasel out of. His next swipe managed to gouge her cheek before he was being manhandled again, this time shoving him back toward the exit of the shop.

Being shoved roughly twice by a very large guy was all he needed to bolt out of there. He was seething. He was furious.

He was halfway across the parking lot when 120 pounds of rage-filled Latina ransacked him into the pavement.

Kurt understood the rule about men hitting women. He respected it. But at the same time, he knew it wasn’t always right. Generally, men are larger than women and have an unfair advantage overpowering woman physically. Burt had taught Kurt some very important knowledge about never using his sex’s privilege to harm a woman iniquitously.

But in this case, Kurt’s natural advantage for a more powerful body fell short under Santana’s 120 pounds of pure muscle. She was, without a doubt, much stronger and more capable of dealing damage than he was thanks to Sue Sylvester’s Cheerio dictatorship. They were physically on equal footing, perhaps even weighted toward her.

Thus, he was allowed to scratch her eyes out if she deserved it. And hell, did she deserve it.

It was impossible to really see what was happening. He felt himself punch and kick and scratch, and he knew he was landing his hits. But he also had a split lip, and he’s certain she’d pulled out a patch of his hair. He was debating whether or not it was okay to rip out her expensive earrings (as angry as he was, he highly respected the designer) when she was pulled away from him.

“SANTANA!” Blaine was yelling, and Kurt had to blink several times before his vision focused. Blaine had nearly threw her five feet back, his hair disheveled out of its hold. “After _everything_ you’ve done, _this_ is what you think is the right thing to do?!” Kurt had never seen Blaine so worked up before. He was actually and literally screaming, his face filled with color in a way that was completely new to Kurt.

Santana was like nothing he’s ever seen before as well. Her hair had fallen all over her face, extensions only half on now, her fake eyelashes displaced and falling off. She had the clear look of craziness, and her beaten up face only added to. “Well he fucking _needs_ someone to rip some sense out of him! He’s been treating you like shit-”

“And you don’t have _any fucking right_ coming between us!” he screamed. “You have lost all privileges to an opinion about him, _or_ my relationship with him! After everything you’ve done to him, what he’s _going through_ because of you, you think this is warranted? You think attacking him is what a good friend would do for me?”

Her face had fallen. “Blaine, I-”

But Blaine wasn’t going to let her speak. “I gave you this _one chance_ to try to talk some sense into your actions. Now, I don’t even want to hear it.” He extended his arm, pointing it dramatically toward the distance. “ _Go_.”

It was very much like he had slapped her himself. “ _Blaine_ -”

“I’m _done_ talking to you,” Blaine interjected. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a kid. I don’t need you making any more decisions for me.”

The last time Kurt had seen Santana Lopez cry, they were in the fourth grade and it was because Stephani Dunmore put gum in her hair and she had to get it all cut off. It seemed strange to see her eyes well up, fighting the urge to let them fall. “Fine,” she croaked, brushing herself off.

She held her head high as she left, barely even limping even though the heel of her shoe was broken.

Kurt could read the way Blaine was desperate to help him up off of the ground like a children’s book. It was in the way he held his breath, the small, inward upturn of his eyebrows and downturn of his lips. He watched him fighting with himself, unsure whether Kurt would let him or not. Kurt distractedly waited until Blaine had finally decided to go for it before standing up briskly by himself.

He felt horrible. Santana had definitely dug her elbows into his stomach deep enough to bruise. He licked his split lip once, letting the sharpness of the pain keep him grounded from the threatening airlessness that came with watching Blaine’s eyes glisten.

Weary of the people watching, Kurt walked away.

The drive was numbing; he didn’t have any music on, so all that he heard was the buzzing of his car and the muffled outside world. He locked the front door behind him when he got home. Unable to make it any further, Kurt slid down until he was curled up on the floor, his breathing ragged. It was harder to stay numb without that buzzing, but he wouldn’t let himself cry; he wasn’t sure if he really needed to. He just needed to breathe, to get his thinking straight.

Slowly, the crack inside of him deepened, the previous layers keeping it together melting off. Blaine was still defending him, still trying to do what was right. Whether or not he was doing so for brownie points was never even a question; when did Blaine ever do something because of anything less than the goodness of his heart?

The doorbell rang.

Anger returned. He had followed him; never before had Blaine read him so incorrectly. He stood up again, peeking through the spy hole. The last thing he needed right now was to be smothered, how could Blaine not have-?

It wasn’t Blaine.

It was the deafening final blow to his shield.

He panicked, unsure about whether he should open the door or not. _It was unsafe_ , he knew. _Here, alone. In his home._ But perhaps it was his protectiveness, or worriment, or simple curiosity that opened the door.

“ _I’m so freaking sorry_ ,” David Karofsky blubbered on Kurt’s front doorstep.

Face blotched, eyes screwed, it was clear that David had been crying, or fighting the need, for a while. He couldn’t get a word in with how desperately David spoke.

“I am so, so freaking sorry, for _everything_ ,” he insisted, looking like he too was having trouble breathing. Kurt swallowed through the thickness in his throat. He couldn’t bear to look him in the eye anymore- neither of them could. David fell into a fit, sobbing into the hand that was trying to hide his face.

Kurt took two steps forward, shut the door behind him soundly, and sat down on the top step of the stoop. After a moment, David followed him. “H-Have you been on the websites?” he asked grimly, the entire moment surreal. He, himself, was so close to a breakdown, but maybe that’s why he suddenly felt like helping so much.

But instead, David stammered through sobs, “My- My uncle u-used to-”

Kurt’s eyebrows came together.

“Whe- When I was five.”

The air gushed out of Kurt’s lungs.

“I didn’t- I can’t believe I- that I could-” he shuttered visibly, hiccupping, “that- to someone else. I always thought that that- that was why I was- I was _like this_ , I thought he had contaminated me. And then you came along and you were always so- just _out there_ , you know? That part of you was- was _nothing_. It pissed me off. How you stood up for yourself. How words like- like ‘faggot’ meant nothing to you. And god, you- you were right. Everything you said about me, you were _right_.”

There was no conjoining of letters possible to console him. There was a decade suppressed emotions spewing out of him with no cork in sight. He supposed it was good for him to be letting it out, but it was also suffocating for Kurt, to be burdened to hold this weight.

“And I- I treated you like a _thing_ ,” David spat, venom aimed at himself. “For _years_ , you were just- a punching bag. It’s like you were always- _always_ stronger than us. You were always like, _bigger_ than us, no matter how many times we pounded on you. You were just so… I _wanted_ that-”

Somewhere deep in Kurt’s stomach, Kurt’s heart was breaking. He had never met anyone who went through such a sickening, deeply scarring thing like he has before- at least, none that have ever confided their secret in him. And this was someone who obviously has never had the wondrous help Kurt had at getting over something that can truly never leave you. For one insane moment, Kurt’s body filled with remorse over bringing this person to their breaking point.

Immediately after, Kurt’s body filled with fear.

“David,” Kurt interrupted softly, out of necessity more than anything. David’s teeth clacked together from shutting his mouth too quickly. “I think… you have to go now.”

David’s face crashed. “Please,” he begged. “Oh god, _please_ -”

It would have been easier if Kurt could look him in the eyes, but he couldn’t. “Is there anything your uncle could say to you that would make you forgive him?”

He was quiet.

Kurt let out an uneasy breath, so close to his breakdown that he felt like he was going insane. “For what it’s worth, I know you’re being genuine. I know how much you mean it. But I can’t accept your apology.”

David was breathing heavily, but he was no longer sobbing. A beat, and then another, and he stood up.

“Wait,” Kurt called after him before he left. “Do you have a pen?” David patted himself several times before he pulled a red Sharpie out of his bag and handed it over. Kurt took it, and then David’s hand gingerly, trying not to remember where that hand has been before. He wrote a name. “I don’t know where she is now. You’ll have to really look for her. She’s a clinical psychologist. If you do find her, tell her I recommended her to you.”

“…Thanks,” David mumbled as Kurt handed the marker back. For the first time, Kurt dared to look up at him. He tried to send a smile, but it never came.

Being alone in his house after that felt impossible. His exterior was crumbling inward; its support beams felt like they had never truly been there to begin with, like he had been simply pretending they were. It was bone crushing. He knew he couldn’t go through this by himself anymore. He had always been proud to be self-sufficient; his therapist had told him long ago that it would be his downfall. He’ll never admit the example out loud, but it was exactly like how a cat pretends it’s not having stomach pains until it keels over dead without its owners knowing anything was off. He needed to lean on someone, let them know he was hurting. The only person he wanted was Blaine.

So he went and got him.

He hated himself for doing it. Part of him, not even a Human or Cat part, was kicking chairs over in his mind. To go back and trust the person who hurt him was stupid on any fundamental level.

But hadn’t Blaine showed him by now that he was worth forgiving? Hadn’t he stuck by him, stood up to bullies, and defended him countless times without any other reason besides the own goodness of his heart? After everything Kurt has put him through, Blaine’s put up with his stubbornness.

Blaine didn’t mean to betray Kurt’s trust. Though Kurt couldn’t understand why Blaine would even _tell_ Santana about those videos. At the very least, didn’t Blaine deserved time to explain himself?

He remained rooted on the Anderson front doorstep, focusing on his breathing to keep himself from running away. Blaine was in the library on days he didn’t have cheer practice, Kurt knew, and normally wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. After the events at the coffee shop though, who knows where Blaine went. _He might actually be home_ , Kurt realized dauntingly. It was possible that Blaine might already see him-

Which is why he jumped when the door behind him opened.

“Is there something I can help you with, dear?” came the motherly voice of a beautiful woman only just aging; she had thick, curly, dark hair that cascaded down her back. She wore a business skirt, clear markings of a tan, and without a doubt had Blaine’s eye color.

“Y-…I-I-” he stuttered, not quite certain his eyes hadn’t popped out of his skull. It has now been _months_ since Kurt’s known Blaine, and as far as Kurt was concerned, Blaine lived by himself. He knew that his parents had to have come home at least once since, but Blaine, ever allusive about his family, never mentioned anything.

(Not that a majority of the time Kurt’s known him they had been on such speaking terms.)

He made to back up off of the steps. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry-” he began, but he did not know _anything_ about Blaine’s family. His throat congealed tightly. Atop of his head, Kurt’s ears burned. He flattened them down into his hair, and did his best to keep his tail behind his back. “I- I’ll just go-”

“Oh no, honey, are you waiting for Blaine?” she asked politely, just as Kurt realized that Blaine inherited her long eyelashes, too. “I think he’s at the library, but I’m sure he’ll be home soon. To be honest, I’m not quite sure how late he usually stays. Why don’t you come in? I’m sure I have something in the pantry for you to munch on…”

To Kurt’s horror, she retreated back into the house, leaving the door wide open behind her for Kurt to follow. There wasn’t much of a choice in the matter; he either ran for it, making this one of the more embarrassing moments of his life that he would relive every time he had insomnia, or he followed her inside for potentially even _worse_ moments. In the end, Kurt took a deep breath and closed the door behind him.

The more Kurt realized that he had only been in this house one other time, and in that time he had nearly sucked the life out of the neck of this woman’s son, the more he regretted his decision.

He padded awkwardly into the large kitchen where Mrs. Anderson pulled out a pack of store-bought chocolate chip cookies and set them on the island. “God, I wish I was one of those mothers who always had freshly baked pastries to give to company,” she was sighing. “I could never find the time, though.”

Trying to do his best to take up as little space as possible, Kurt slid into the seat at the island counter. He didn’t have a reply to her casual conversation. He couldn’t help but notice how while the room was impeccably decorated, it was also severely unlived in. There was no mess to it, no left out silverware or uncleaned crumb, and the scented candles in the glass hutch all looked like they had never been lit.

His silence didn’t bother her. She busied herself pulling out two bottles of water from the high-tech fridge and dropped one in front of him. There was a small smile curving her familiar lips. “So Blaine finally plucked up the nerve to talk to you?”

Kurt nearly choked on his own spit. “Um…?”

She huffed out a laugh, though it felt rather stilted. “He’s been… enamored with you for quite a while.” Blood had rushed to Kurt’s ears, thrumming loudly. “He somehow got a hold that old newspaper clipping when he was young and kept it on his nightstand for two years. I eventually had to have a talk with him, but it turned out he didn’t just think you were _cool_ like I had originally thought. I guess that was the first inkling I had that he’s…”

“Gay?” Kurt finished, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Yeah, that,” she waved it off, trying to laugh. “I thought he had been turning you into some kind of… one of those Power Ranger guys, you know how kids don’t understand. It would have been so much easier on all of us if it had been, I guess. Not that he should have been viewing you like that, it just would have been easier to explain to him.”

But Kurt wanted to stay off of that topic. “Are you okay with him being gay?” he pressured daringly, eyes catching on the glint of the small, golden cross she wore around her neck.

“I- Well,” she stuttered at the sudden intrusion, and Kurt noticed the first major difference between her and her son by how quickly she recovered. “I love him. I guess it’s just not something that I understand. I never understood either of my sons very much, though, I suppose. But it doesn’t change the fact that I love them both with all of my heart.”

He felt downright reckless now. “Can I say something?” he asked. She blinked, taken aback, then motioned kindly with her hand for him to speak. “If your son was born with a tail, would you have to exert energy trying to accept it?”

Her small smile faded.

He supposed it was probably the worst thing that he could do, trying to force Blaine’s mother into accepting her son’s homosexuality when she had just invited him into her home for the first time after only meeting him for a few seconds. Everything about this conversation was odd. Why had she even brought it up in the first place? But how she processed it or would have continued the conversation, he wouldn’t know, because the front door opened.

There wasn’t anything to do but to wait the few dreadfully long seconds for Blaine to make it down the hallway and notice him in the kitchen with his mother. It took him a while; he had taken four complete steps into the room, immersed in the text he was sending, until he was a mere five feet away from where Kurt was sitting.

Kurt feared Blaine would drop his cell phone from his hands.

Kurt’s heart fell into his stomach at the expression. For once, Kurt had surprised Blaine passed the point of stuttering. His mouth was simply gaping, eyes emotionally wide as the rest of his body was put on pause. Licking his lips, Kurt slid off of his stool, trying his best to keep eye contact when Blaine was clearly having trouble looking anywhere else.

“Are you… free right now?” Kurt asked, desperate to get Blaine to stop _staring_ at him like that. Almost unconsciously, Blaine nodded once and swallowed thickly. Kurt was forced to break the eye contact. “Okay,” was all he said, slipping past Blaine and fleeing up the staircase with not even a second glance back at Mrs. Anderson, who had remained eerily quiet throughout the ordeal.

Blaine’s eyes burned into his back the entire way.

The anxiety waiting for Blaine once up in his bedroom was to the point where he was planning escape routes. He had marked a mental map of the layout of the house in his head once outside the door, but if he was trapped inside it’d be difficult. There was no balcony underneath Blaine’s window; it was a straight, two-story drop, but the manicured garden below him had noticeably plush fertilizer-

The door clicked open and Kurt was forced back into reality. He wasn’t going to have to escape. Blaine was… _safe_. It felt like a kick to the gut remembering that.

From the looks of it, Blaine still hadn’t found his voice. The more Kurt was drawn into the hurting, hopeful puppy-eyes, the more he felt like he was losing his as well. Before he lost it completely, he began. “Before we start, I am banning the words ‘I’m sorry’ from ever leaving your lips.” Blaine’s expression intensified, and Kurt took a deep breath. “Because I’ve already decided… that I accept it.”

Blaine’s eyes widened. “ _What_?” he asked incredulously.

Forgetting himself, Kurt laughed, the sound coming from deep within him. Blaine looked even more taken aback. “Sorry, I just-” he pressed his hands to his lips to try to stop. “You were just ironically a lot more eloquent than I thought you’d be.” He didn’t seem to find the humor as well as Kurt did. The more Kurt giggled, the more his eyes welled up with tears. “Please come sit,” he requested before his voice broke, which he knew was going to happen, patting the bed beside him.

On his way over, Blaine hardly even blinked, holding his rapt expression. Carefully, he sat a little too far away on the bed. Kurt, who had been cross-legged up near the pillows, swiveled around so his feet dangled parallel to Blaine’s.

“Blaine, you are…” It was impossible to keep his voice from breaking, “…one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.” Kurt was glad Blaine didn’t respond. He hugged his tail into his lap to fiddle with the hairs nervously. “And I am just so _selfish_.” Before Blaine could start to protest, Kurt quieted him with a small wave. “No, I am,” he insisted, his throat congealing. “Because I need you. I _have_ to forgive you, because I need you.” Blaine searched him, but Kurt couldn’t tell if he was upset or simply confused. The air gushed out of his lungs. “David apologized.”

Gasping, Blaine made a jerky movement, as if he had almost reached out to console Kurt on instinct, but thought better of it. “Oh my god-”

“I know,” he silenced Blaine again, desperate to work out this speech, to convey his emotions as best as he could. “He stood on my front porch, sobbing, and begged for my forgiveness. And you know what?” he clenched his teeth together, some type of anger, or maybe disgust, aimed at himself. “I almost gave it to him.” He couldn’t spare a look at Blaine’s reaction. In his lap, his hands lay flat over his tail which was trying to flick and tap nervously. “I couldn’t, of course, but the way he…” a lump formed in his throat, and he had to pause to swallow it down and start anew. “But then I realized- if it was so easy, to even _consider_ accepting his apology, why was I being so stubborn about yours?

“I have never in my life wanted to open up to someone before. I’ve always been so closed off, because that’s what protected me. I couldn’t afford middle school backstabbing. I couldn’t afford high school scandals. You _betrayed_ me, Blaine,” he forced himself to look Blaine in the eye, as though it would have been too cruel not to. He looked as if stricken across the face with a whip. “I have _never_ been so open with someone, and then this is what happens because of it.

“I wanted to hate you so badly,” he swallowed again, but the lump remained. “But something was holding me back. And it wasn’t until David that I realized it was because…” his hands gripped tightly around his twitching tail as he averted his eyes again, “because you have always treated me more like a person than I have ever treated you. I have never put you in a position before that has allowed you to make mistakes. I was always pressuring you into being perfect, and that’s not fair to you.”

There were several beats where Kurt had run out of things to say. He kept gripping onto his tail, which thankfully remained still, while he racked his brain for more. Finally, Blaine was allowed to speak, “So you’re… forgiving me because you feel I deserve a free pass?” He didn’t sound angry, not really. Instead, he sounded rather worried.

Voice cracking, one fat tear finally rolled down Kurt’s cheek. “I’m forgiving you because I’m selfish and need you,” he barely managed to say. More tears came, and his voice was stuck high-pitched. “And I don’t think I should be left alone tonight.”

Unable to hold himself back, he leaned toward Blaine, who instinctively enveloped him in his arms. Here, Kurt could duck himself into that smell and let go. Before he could, Blaine spoke calmly, though dejectedly. “Kurt, this isn’t… I shouldn’t comfort you like this right now, not if you still have any amount of animosity toward me.” Despite his words, Blaine rubbed at Kurt’s arm soothingly.

“I just feel so horrible for being mad at you,” he admitted, wiping his eyes futilely.

“God, Kurt, you have every right to be mad at me,” Blaine told him, holding him tighter. “I messed up so badly. I trusted the wrong person. I didn’t even _mean_ to- I shouldn’t have even talked to _anyone_ about that-”

Kurt pulled himself away quickly, “That’s what I’m _saying_ , Blaine, see? I’ve made you feel like you don’t have the right to vent your emotions out to a friend!”

Blaine frowned. “I… don’t understand how you can be defending what I did.”

“I’m _not_ , I’m just-...” he growled, frustrated and overwrought.

“You want to pretend like things are okay with us because you need me to be here for you,” Blaine finished simply, his tone neutral.

Kurt felt sick, now. “I’m so sorry.”

Despite the situation, Blaine teased, “I thought those words were banned?”

“They’re banned from leaving _your_ lips because I wanted you to actually say something besides them,” Kurt pinged back.

“You haven’t really let me say much at all, yet,” Blaine said, and Kurt felt even more disgusted with himself. After a beat, Blaine picked up the courage to ask, “Do you _want_ to hear the full story?”

Heartbeat falling back into place, Kurt swallowed thickly. He nodded slowly.

Fidgeting, Blaine cleared his throat, obviously trying to gather his words. “She’s been helping me this whole time. I would always be so confused about why you would react the way you would, and she could tell when something was bothering me and never let me walk away without making me explain what was wrong. She was kind of… um,” he licked his lips, wondering if he was allowed to mention her name before deciding against it for good caution. “She was always so great at describing and explaining you. She has this… weird ‘third eye’ thing and she always made sense of you really well. You’re kind of… well, confusing, sometimes, but she somehow always knew how to decode you.”

“She doesn’t know shit about me,” Kurt hissed immediately, not liking where Blaine was going with this.

“Well, _no_ , but it felt like she knew more than me,” Blaine assured him. “I do my best, but sometimes when you do something completely out of left field it throws me off. And she’s, well…”

“A judgmental bitch?” he bit.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Blaine sighed tensely. “Which is why I tried to be cryptic-”

“Which you suck at.”

“Which I suck at,” Blaine agreed bluntly, eyes going wide as he nodded. “And she could talk a diamond out of a lump of coal. As soon as she saw me trying to hide things from her she was on me like a leach. She’s always been like that. It used to be endearing,” Here is where his voice started to waver. He turned, looking Kurt dead in the eye. “I know I’m banned from saying it, but I really am sorry. I honestly only started the conversation saying wished for you to be more open about standing up for yourself. But then she weaseled out details and then I mentioned the video without even _realizing_ that I had…

“And I know it’s no excuse, I know I shouldn’t have said anything, but… Santana’s been my best friend since I was four. I never, _ever_ thought she would betray that level of confidentiality I bestowed on her, even if it was someone else’s secret.” He licked his lips, composing himself, “I never planned on releasing the video at all, I told you that on Friday. I just hoped that you’d eventually be in a position where you could talk about all of those awful injustices. If I had known- the level of how far it would _spread_ \- I wouldn’t have even pressed the topic in the slightest.”

Short tempered, Kurt said venomously, “Did you _not_ expect for the whole town talk about it?!”

“The tow-?” Blaine’s eyebrows came together. “No, of course the _town_ would talk about it, that’s why I wanted-” Suddenly, Blaine stopped himself. His eyes went wide, fearful in a way that made Kurt pull back an inch. “You-?” he tried futilely, gaping at Kurt, but the words left him. He was left staring awestruck at an increasingly more self-conscious Kurt until it became too much for him and he fell into his hands.

Feeling small and confused, Kurt pulled his tail further into his chest. “Blaine, what-?”

“Have you even _been_ online, Kurt?” Blaine snapped, his voice shaking.

Kurt blinked twice. “Not since that morning, no,” he swallowed thickly. “I saw that my Twitter account was found and I gained a thousand followers overnight and I just… couldn’t.”

“You-” Blaine’s face drained of all color until he looked a sickly shade. The way he clutched his stomach looked like he was going to be sick. “You shouldn’t have come here without… doing that.”

Blinded, refusing to see what Blaine was hinting at, Kurt clenched his jaw as his leg began to bounce. “I don’t understand what-”

Blaine interrupted him, his hand hovering just over Kurt’s shoulder before he pulled it away as if Kurt would burn him. Kurt felt the wind kick out of him at the action before Blaine even said anything. “Kurt, it’s- it’s a _lot_ more than just this town who’ve seen the video.”

Unable to keep himself down, Kurt stood up. “How many views does it have?” he asked, something in his voice determined though he felt like bolting out of the room.

“Kurt, you should sit-”

“ _Blaine_.”

“F-Fifty million.”

Kurt sat down.

Million. _Million_. Something inside of him dislodged, the world fuzzing out of focus for a horrifying moment as he tried to wrap his head around it. _Fifty million people_. Fifty _million_. Was that number even achievable in the real world? Do numbers go up that high? Fifty _million_ views from god knows how many people who all have every day, average lives, with faces and eyes and opinions and _judgment_ oh _god,_ Fifty _million_ -

He came to with Blaine’s face a mere foot away from his own, near begging, “Oh god, please don’t faint-”

Before he could control himself, Blaine was being pushed back roughly by Kurt’s hands, nearly knocking the boy down to the floor. Blaine winced and cowered, as though scared Kurt was going to attack him again.

That sight, the sight of Blaine being afraid of him, is what made Kurt realize he was doing the same thing over again. The whole point to coming back here was for redemption, it was about learning to accept Blaine’s apology. Why was he pushing him away again?

_Instincts_ , his Cat told him. _He’ll hurt you again_.

_Fuck off_ , his Human replied.

It may have taken a long moment, but eventually Blaine got past the shock enough to wrap his arms around Kurt securely. He had taken to whispering repeated phrases of comfort into Kurt’s hair. The emotion caused Kurt’s purring to pick up, which he was in no place to swallow down. Instead, he shivered into the embrace and let Blaine’s scent seep life into him.

After a long while, Blaine murmured, “I still don’t think it’s good for me to be comforting you like this.”

“It’s probably not,” Kurt admitted finally, though he clutched onto Blaine tighter. “But I’m going to forgive you eventually, anyway. And I think being with you is the best way to come to terms with the fact that you deserve to be forgiven.”

“I don’t deserve to be forgiven,” Blaine denied immediately. “I don’t even know what came over me.”

Pulling back, Kurt wiped at his eyes. “If the roles had been reversed, if I had done the same thing to you, would you have forgiven me?”

For a long moment, Blaine stared at him, a crease between his brows. “It would depend on the situation,” he decided on eventually.

“Same situation,” Kurt insisted.

Still, Blaine hesitated, “That disagreement would not have ended in millions of people breeching my privacy. It would always be different.”

“Say it _did_ ,” Kurt pressured.

“I- we- I never had the past history that you do-”

“You’re just covering up the fact that you would have forgiven me so much quicker and so much easier than I have,” Kurt blurted, a little sticky. “It would have taken you a _day_ before you marched into my home and stopped me from avoiding you as self-punishment. That’s what you _do_ , Blaine.”

“Alright, but do you think, in that situation, that _you_ would deserve to be forgiven?” Blaine retorted, and suddenly Kurt’s jaw snapped shut. He didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t contradict everything he just said. Thankfully, Blaine didn’t gloat. “And maybe I _do_ deserve to be forgiven eventually. _Eventually_. But you shouldn’t pretend to forgive me so that you can lean on me. It’s not good for you.”

“It’s not good for _you_ to punish yourself more than you have to!” Kurt pressed, resituating himself on his knees. “You’re a good guy, Blaine-”

“-A good guy who _hurt_ you-”

“ _A good guy who made a mistake_ ,” Kurt corrected. “My Human already does forgive you, Blaine. I don’t know how I can explain it; it’s just my instinctual trust in you that’s been shattered. Trust or no trust, you deserve to be forgiven.” Blaine’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes downcast in a way that told Kurt his points were met dubiously. Chest growling, Kurt could already feel his eyes burning again as he sat up. “Look, if you really want me to leave right now, then fine.”

Before he could make it too far, Blaine’s hand grappled around his bicep, restricting him from storming out. “ _No_ \- god Kurt, no,” he pleaded, his honey eyes wide. “It’s just-… it’ll be too easy for me to forget that things aren’t okay between us. That I messed up.”

“ _You have to stop punishing yourself_ ,” Kurt advised shortly. “You’d think that after all of the shit I put you through, you wouldn’t need it.”

“You just mean _so much_ to me, Kurt,” Blaine continued, his eyes expressive, as though daring to hope. “I can’t ever explain that properly to you. I hate that I messed it up-”

“You can _redeem_ yourself,” he said unwaveringly. “If I can nearly accept Karofsky’s apology, then I can accept yours. Because despite what you might think, you _do_ deserve it.”

Speechless and gaping, Blaine’s glance flickered around Kurt’s face, between his eyes. It was impossible for Kurt to keep the corner of his mouth from quirking upward. Eventually, though, the intensity of Blaine’s gaze became too much, and Kurt had to duck his head.

“You are the most unpredictable human being on this entire planet,” Blaine murmured under his breath, his awestruck expression somehow growing even stronger.

Blush rising to his cheeks at the term, Kurt shrugged, “Sorry-” he started, only to be interrupted by-

“I love it.”

It was like someone punched him straight in the chest, the way the air gushed out of Kurt’s lungs. He kept waiting for Blaine to fall back, stammering in embarrassment at what he accidentally blurted, but it never came. Blaine held his expression, staring at Kurt like he was the world.

The hand that brushed over Kurt’s startled him at first; he flinched slightly, but then gave into the touch before Blaine could doubt himself. “You um…” Blaine started, finally looking a little bashful. “You look pretty emotionally drained…”

“Yeah?” Kurt humored, sounding a lot more hysteric than he intended.

“Do you mind if I…” Blaine asked, then changed his wording. “You said you haven’t been online, right?” The grip on Blaine’s hand tightened. “I think you should see how some people are reacting. I really think it would help.”

Dejected, Kurt pulled back, his face falling. “Why would that help?”

But Blaine was doing that thing with his lips, trying to keep from smiling, as he shrugged. “You actually have… kind of a following. A lot of people… really got your message, in the best way, I mean.”

“I’m not really that interested in seeing all of the creeps that fetish me-”

“No- _no_ , Kurt” Blaine grabbed both of Kurt’s hands again, keeping him grounded. “A whole bunch of them actually _listened_ to you!”

A lump settled in Kurt’s throat. He shook his head, “Don’t bullshit me, Blaine-”

“ _One_ video,” Blaine begged, his eyes alight and smile wide.

“ _Goddammit_ , Blaine, just stop, okay?!” Kurt blew up, ripping his hands out of Blaine’s hold. “I don’t want to subject myself to them, why can’t you see tha-”

Smile only slightly more subdued, Blaine interrupted, “Don’t you see what you’re doing?” Kurt choked on his rant to stare bewilderedly. “You’re not letting yourself get used to the idea that there are people out there who just want to help you. I’m not going to lie, there was a lot of ignorant backlash, but there’s this giant community that formed who have been defending you every chance they get. There’s this one online news person who really gave your story serious justice. I just want to show you the way that they handled your story. They’re not affiliated with the media or making money off of your story or any of the stories they tell. They did a really good job, and I promise you, the last thing I would do right now is show you something that would upset you.”

The air must have been thicker than usual, because it felt like he wasn’t getting the necessary amount of air he should have. Kurt clenched his teeth; this visit had been about redemption, about learning to forgive and trust Blaine again. It was just so difficult to believe that some random person on the internet was going to make Kurt _not_ feel worse than he had on his way over to Blaine’s house.

Blaine was definitely doing that thing where he unconsciously offered up his warm scent more than usual. “On one condition,” he found himself saying. Blaine’s face exploded in a grin before he could control himself, and did a poor job keeping it down for Kurt to continue. Taking a large gulp of the scent, Kurt breathed, exhausted, “You let me sleep in your bed afterwards, because I’m exhausted.”

“I’d let you sleep in my bed any time you wanted,” Blaine said without a beat, both of them blushing once they took the words in. Blaine’s face fell into his palms in regret. “That was literally the creepiest thing I could have said, and I said it,” he said, mortified if the hint of hysterics in his tone were anything to go by.

But Kurt found himself fighting off a giggle, his chest near ready to burst. “I’d let you be creepy any time you wanted, if that’s your definition of ‘creepy’.” Blaine’s eyes flashed up at him, a glint on strong emotion in them that matched the small, shocked smile on his lips. It was a losing battle, trying to keep the grin on his own face from stretching.

Much to Kurt’s disbelief, the video Blaine wanted to show him was indeed uplifting. It starred a young androgynous person with chin length hair, maybe in their early twenties. There was an air of professionalism in the lighting and setup quality around them, but they spoke to their viewers with ease and comfort.

_“And now, I’d like to bring us to our last story of the day, which I am almost positive you have already heard about being that the video in question gained_ fourteen million views _after just_ twenty-four hours _, and that number is only growing. The video is of seventeen-year-old Kurt Hummel of Lima, Ohio_ ,” a picture of a screen cap of Kurt’s face with his ears cropped out showed up on screen _, “who was just so beaten up and kicked around by not just bullies, but_ adults _in his life who think of him as lesser that he needed to plea and vent his injustice on camera. We’ve been seeing a lot of these videos around the internet lately, but this one deserves its own category. And that is because: Kurt Hummel has twenty-five percent feline DNA.”_

The cropped picture expanded to show Kurt’s ears on top of his head.

_“And guys, I am just baffled and outraged at how the media has been trying to handle this situation,”_ the news person said. _“The name and story may or may not seem familiar to you; the story is that Hummel was in the news around 10 years ago when he was found locked in the basement of the man who created him for sexual abuse. As if that wasn’t enough torment to live with for a lifetime, the video is actually mainly venting about his life_ after _being released, ranging on topics from how the government wanted to keep him for testing, to how the general people around him treat him as a monster, to how his mother died because someone_ tampered with their car _. It just absolutely destroys me inside thinking of what this kid has had to go through, and then added to it, what he’s going through on a day-to-day basis. This kid was beaten and raped for the entire first seven years of his life, and the people around him to this day continue to harass him for elements about himself that, not only he can’t control, but are a constant daily reminder of his horrible childhood. This goes beyond classroom bullying; when you hear this story of this kid who was created by a sick, sick person for the sole purpose to be used as a thing and then by some miracle freed himself and you think ‘oh, yeah, I think I’m going to go mess around under his mother’s car so that she kills herself’, there is something in me that believes that you should be ripped of your rights to receive any human decency for the rest of your pitiful existence._

_“Evidence and rumors from classmates around his school is saying that the video itself wasn’t even meant to ever become public, and that it was taken and uploaded as some cruel joke and that just- it’s insane to think that a group of people could be that disgustingly heartless. It makes me lose faith in society that this is how we deal with things that are different from us. We see it all of the time: racism, homophobia, transphobia, the wars that have been created because of religion. In fact, a lot of the talk about this situation relates it to these prejudices. While those similarities are legitimate and need to be evaluated, I have to say that this individual situation is so much worse for this kid, simply for the fact that he is completely alone. No one will ever be able to live in his shoes to give him more than sympathy, but the empathy that he deserves. He doesn’t have a community to go to, to rally with, to fight for his rights with him. It’s really up to all of us to be allies, and so far we’ve been doing a downright shitty job. And that is why, regardless of whether or not he meant the video to be uploaded, I want to congratulate Kurt Hummel on his bravery. He deserves kindness and respect, if solely for his strength of staying with us so long when the world around him is such a horrible, ugly place. Kurt Hummel, I am sorry for the losses in your life, and I genuinely wish to see a rally in your name so that more people will stop fearing those of us who are different. Also, congrats on coining the phrase ‘nilly-willy with their baby-juice’ and making it work. A+ on that one.”_

The segment fizzed out into the video’s closing, leaving the room in silence. Kurt’s throat felt sore every time he swallowed. A hand fell onto his cheek, startling him, to wipe away wetness Kurt didn’t know had accumulated.

With a raised eyebrow, Blaine asked a million questions in the upturn of his lips.

Scoffing, Kurt wiped away the streaks down his face, burring himself in his palms while they were there. “I’m just so emotionally drained right now,” he said, truthfully, through them

“Did it help?” Blaine hummed. Kurt swallowed again, noticing the sharpness of the pain and getting lost before he could find an answer. “You don’t have to be stubborn about it,” Blaine teased lightly, and Kurt sent him a quick glare that had him laughing. As always, Blaine’s magical laughter made it difficult for Kurt to keep his expression.

“It’s just… I don’t know…” he trailed off.

“Kurt, there are _so many people_ who have the same opinion as they do,” Blaine told him, going serious. He slid the laptop off of his lap and looked Kurt straight in the eye. “I understand why it’s hard to let yourself see that, but you should learn to accept other people’s acceptance.”

Easy for him to say, with his human instincts. “Can I sleep now?” Kurt said instead, marveling the way Blaine’s face fell into a soft smile.

“Of course you can.”

Blaine stood up off of the bed and walked over to the head. Overturning the blankets, he fluffed a pillow for him. Kurt sighed, chuckling to himself, making his way over to Blaine. They smiled at each other, Blaine gesturing grandly to the prepared bed. After Kurt was securely bundled in the blankets, he observed Blaine as he walked over to his desk and began pulling out textbooks from his bag. Perhaps Kurt did already forgive him.

_o-O-o_


	10. Chapter 10

_o-O-o_

As soon as he woke up, Kurt had a list of things he wanted to do. The first was to leave a note left on the Blaine’s nightstand for him to find when he woke up; Kurt woke to finding Blaine in a sleeping bag on the floor, which made Kurt tut because there was plenty of space on the bed. The letter was adorned in neat, simple, thought-out letters, ‘ _Coffee tomorrow_?’. This was a small thing, but he had to assure Blaine that he didn’t get cold feet on him and left without saying goodbye, for certainly Blaine would worry.

The next item on the list was a little more intensive. It wasn’t hard to find the phone number, though he did feel quite bad for swiping Blaine’s phone for a minute before he left to get it. Coffee tomorrow was definitely on him.

The call rang five times before finally being picked up, obviously wary of the blocked number. “Lopez Funeral Home Services speaking: You Kick It, We RIP It. If you are calling on behalf of a prank call, please press ‘one’, where you will be dispatched to the services of the Latina Mafia,” Santana warded off.

“I need the username and password,” Kurt spat.

The third point on his list involved an email, which he sent as soon as he made it home. He wouldn’t be able to continue onto his last until the following day, where he stood across the cafeteria for nearly ten minutes, tail flicking, ears back on his head submissively, trying to calm his beating heart down. _What if they don’t want you?_ Kurt’s anxiety kicked in. _They don’t want you. You’re a story to them. Gossip. A Freak Show to gawk at for amusement._

He has never before in his life done anything like this. In fact, this is the exact opposite of the reputation he’s forced himself to have. Eventually, his feet under him pulled him across the floor. Still, his nervous presence was what made them turn around, because it sure as hell wasn’t the pathetic, miniscule squeak he made trying to announce himself.

The newly hushed table of the Glee kids all stared at him. It wasn’t all of them, just those who had this period and nowhere cooler to sit, like with the jocks or, thank god, cheerleaders. He needed to focus, but all of the blood had rushed up to his face at the same time, and it was rather dizzying. Finally, he mewled, “Can I… sit here?”

Mercedes’ grin widened across her entire face. She literally pushed Rachel over a seat, patting the newly vacant area next to her, in the middle of the group. At this point, he didn’t mind that he was next to Rachel Berry; he was just glad they weren’t all laughing at him.

He had expected questions coming at him from every which way and was confused to the point of suspicion when they didn’t come. Instead, conversation stayed on pop culture, arguments over which diva reigned supreme and what reality show character everyone would be. He was addressed regularly, which was off-putting. His answers were never lengthy, more content to watch them interact than have the focus on him, but it did fill him with a strange sensation every time they fished for his opinion. Even Rachel became bearable.

“You always zig when I think you’re about to zag,” Blaine greeted him later that day as Kurt was packing up to go home at his locker. “I just talked to Tina.”

Giving a small smile, Kurt reasoned, “It’s better knowing that there’s at least five people who aren’t going to be staring at me like everyone else.”

“How would you like it to be six?” Blaine raised his eyebrow at him, to which Kurt furrowed his. Blaine gestured with his hand for someone to come over.

Looking like the biggest toddler about to be scolded by his parent, Finn Hudson meandered over next to Blaine’s side. He kept his face angled to the ground, but he was so tall that it did nothing to hide it. Feeling his pulse jump into his throat, Kurt glanced back at Blaine for reassurance, who was busy tapping Finn’s arm to remind him to speak.

“Hi, um, Kurt. I just… um. I just wanted to say how sorry I am for everything I did- er, well,” he frowned to himself, finally looking up at Kurt, “ _didn’t_ do. I could see those guys- Karofsky, Adams, Conners- uh, well, I always saw them when they were harassing you, and it always, always bothered me, but I never did anything. And that was like, totally uncool of me. I could have- I could have helped you, gotten them to stop- but I was too busy being a coward of how they would treat me if I stood up for you. And that’s… not going to happen anymore,” Finn’s chest puffed out, taking a deep breath. “If I see anything, or if you- if you come to me if you need, I’ll do what I can to help you out.”

Kurt immediately turned to Blaine, eyes sparking, “Did you set him up to this?”

Blaine, who had visibly jumped from Kurt’s glare, was quick to resolve, “Actually, Finn came up to me earlier and asked how would be the best way to do this. He’s been trying to speak to you for a while.”

“You’re pretty intimidating,” Finn squeaked in his defense, bringing a hand to rub nervously at the back of his head. “I don’t want- you know, I know it _is_ , but- I want to make this not be a ‘too little too late’ thing. I want to make up for everything I didn’t do, and I really have for a long time. I’ve always felt guilty about it, and especially now because our parents are dating-”

Kurt’s hand flew out against Finn’s chest, “ _Carole’s your mom_?!”

“Uh, yeah,” Finn said with as much dignity as a man who just cowered away so quickly he almost fell over could. “So, um, now that our parents are dating we’re kind of like, sibling-dating or- something that doesn’t sound like incest-”

“I didn’t know Carole had a kid,” Kurt pursed his lips, a familiar type of fear settling low in his belly. Deep down, he had to have known Carole would have a family of her own- obviously not a husband, but kids. But he had hoped that maybe those kids had been small- elementary or younger. It was easy to train a kid, to teach them how to not be ignorant. For a moment, Kurt felt like he was going to be sick in the way he always felt when the prospect of meeting new people arose. He shook himself out of it, coming to his senses on the count of having already _met_ Finn.

Finn Hudson. Up until now, he had always enraged Kurt. It was true that Finn had never harassed him, not once, but his anger with him, like many others, lies with the fact that he always turned his cheek. While half of the football team marched up to him and kicked him to the ground, the rest, Finn leading, made themselves scarce. He could tell that Kurt’s harassment always bothered Finn; Kurt always found him sending pitiful glances his way, and that was the worst part of it. He never did anything. Despite the fact that he had a lot of power in this school and he saw how Kurt was personally victimized, he never once opened his mouth against it. ‘Too little too late’ was definitely the way to call it.

“I guess she never mentioned me,” Finn mumbled sheepishly. “I met your dad the other day, though, and though I don’t really like the idea of my mom dating anyone… it’s kind of cool that he… he really cares about you.”

Knowing Burt, he was probably waiting for the right time to mention Carole’s son was a football player here. In the light of recent events, there was definitely no good time to spring that on him. “I believe you when you say that you want to help me,” Kurt started before Finn could babble on anymore. “But I’m not going to lie. I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you. You could have done so much to help me in the past, but you never did,” he flashed his eyes upwards as once again Finn’s head bowed. “But in honor of my dad and Carole… I will withhold my judgment on you until you prove yourself.”

Eyes squinting, Finn frowned, “So, that means…?”

Straightening his shoulders, Kurt lifted his jaw, “That I am resetting my feelings on you. How you act from now on will determine it.”

Face lighting up, Finn’s signature crooked smile splayed on his face, “Right. Cool. I- uh. I’ll see you around then.” He went to clap a hand to Kurt’s shoulder, but awkwardly shied away when Kurt expertly dodged it, pursed lips and threatening glare making it clear that physical contact was not going to happen anytime soon.

_o-O-o_

In a weird turn of events, Burt was planning to tell Kurt about Finn later that night during dinner. “If this is about Finn, I already know,” Kurt said coolly as his dad tried to work out a way to bring up the topic gently. Burt sputtered. “He talked to me earlier today.”

“And… you know he’s on the football team, right?” Burt asked, still as if he was treading through enemy water.

“He wasn’t one of them who ever beat me up,” Kurt spat bluntly, knowing Burt was going to play his overprotective father card.

Still, Burt was tense, as if looking straight at the headlights of an oncoming train, “He wasn’t?”

“No,” Kurt replied, planning on leaving it at that.

Burt was quiet for a bit, rubbing at his forehead. “I… guess I gotta go apologize to Carole, then…”

Kurt set his fork and knife down on the table with enough force that the clanking echoed around the kitchen. “ _What did you do_?!”

“We… kind of got into this big fight about it,” Burt admitted.

Kurt got up from his seat and stormed over to the house phone, nearly ripping the entire machine it off of the wall. He shoved it practically on top of his father’s food. “Call her right now,” he instructed.

“You gotta understand where I’m coming from, though, Kurt-”

Sitting himself down in a huff, Kurt cut him off, “You really like her, don’t you?!”

“You come first-”

“For _once_ , _please_ , do this for yourself!” Kurt raised his voice now, fighting back any onslaught of furious tears he knew were probably on their way. Because if _he_ was the reason Burt was going to miss out on Carole, Kurt would never be able to live with himself. “I’m fine, okay?! I’m a big kid- I can handle myself, but you- you just do this for yourself, okay?” He stabbed his mashed potatoes and corn venomously.

After a moment of tense silence, Burt pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I… gotta use this one…” he mumbled.

Kurt paused mid-passive-aggressive-bite to stare at him. “What’s wrong with the house phone?” he asked, mouth full.

“…I took out the batteries.”

Kurt’s head fell into his hands, thumbs pressing into his temples. “Why did you take the batteries out of the house phone.”

“I don’t want you to worry about it-” Burt cut himself off at the look Kurt gave him, knowing he had lost. “Our number must have leaked online. I had to call all of the doctors’ offices and important things to make my cell the number of first contact.”

Appetite gone, Kurt stood up to clean his plate and allow Burt privacy to make his phone call.

_o-O-o_

It was Sunday afternoon, and Kurt had been completely dead to the world, sleeping soundly in the ever-winsome rays of his sunroom. It was a warm and pleasant nap, made even warmer and more pleasant when he woke up to a wonderful smell and hand through the falling bangs of his hair.

“…Can you even hear me or are you going to remain unconscious?” Were the first words in the wondrous sultry tone that Kurt identified. He hummed to show his acknowledgement. “Sorry for letting myself in, I just wasn’t sure if you could hear the doorbell in your room. Your car was outside, so I knew you were home. Do you want me to leave-?”

“Stay,” Kurt insisted, his sleepy words sounding like mush as his face was nearly steam-pressed to the pillow under him. “’Keep doin’ that,” he further instructed to where Blaine’s hand wasn’t in his hair anymore, which was a serious problem that needed to be rectified.

“Y-You sure?” Blaine asked hesitantly, and Kurt only had the energy to hum again. “Okay…” Blaine’s fingers carded through his hair, this time reaching farther back than just the fringe. Kurt was certain that the subsequent hum in response that time was much more qualified as a moan, but he was in no position to fight it. Yes, this was perfection. In his sunroom with Blaine’s blunt fingernails scraping his scalp. “Your hair is so thick,” Blaine commented, and Kurt wanted his honey voice to keep droning. He was an inch from sleep again.

Until Blaine’s thumb accidentally swiped _too close_. Kurt jolted. Blaine’s hand was out of his hair, and no, _no no no_ , that’s not was he wanted- “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Kurt’s eyes had blinked open for the first time in the fright. He clenched them shut again to gather focus, and to hopefully calm the heart now beating in his throat. “N-no, it’s-” his voice box felt like it was still asleep, “it’s okay,” he powered through it anyway, settling himself back down on his pillow. “Y-You can. You can touch them, if you want…”

He caught Blaine’s eye, which had been down on Kurt’s couch-level, for a brief moment before he had to look away. “I- uh. Really-? J-Just like-…?” Blaine reached his cautious, fumbling hand out until it bumped into the tender part of the base of Kurt’s ear. Kurt inhaled again, taking in a rush of smell. It was awkward at first, Blaine unsure of how to do this, until Kurt tilted his head and guided the hand.

Kurt’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as Blaine’s fingers maneuvered perfectly, the purring, which had been quiet before, began picking up. He couldn’t help pressing into the rubbing, waiting until Blaine realized he needed to be firmer. Eventually, Blaine’s thumb found a rhythm working itself into the base of the fold. The world around Kurt started to get blissfully hazy.

At one point, Blaine’s hand lifted away a little. Kurt shook his head, clearing his ears of the feeling for a moment before angling it back into position. “Do it again,” he instructed, Blaine’s chuckles hardly even registering.

It was getting to the point where Kurt couldn’t even open his eyes, the world completely rose-tinted whenever he managed it. Suddenly, the rumbling in his chest grew loud, noticeably loud, and he sat up, urging Blaine’s hand away. “Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly, his face growing uncomfortably hot. He swallowed several times, willing the noise to stop. It got quiet, but the fear made it persist.

“You don’t like your purring,” Blaine stated more than asked.

Holding his breath helped stop it, and when he sighed out, it was rumble free. “Not really,” Kurt said, crossing his arms uncomfortably. It’s another one of those attributes he was genetically engineered to have. The embarrassment of the moment settled in. That was the first time anyone but his parents had rubbed his ears. While it does feel good, there were other memories of his ears being rubbed that did not sit well. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to do that.”

Shrugging, Blaine’s lips quirked upward. “It was just like a head rub. It’s not weird.” _It’s not weird_. Surely it was, but Blaine’s mind was wired different than everyone else’s. There was cotton candy and unicorns in there, Kurt was sure. “Everyone has sensitive ears. It’s why people use Q-Tips even despite the warning to not put them in your ears.”

Rolling his eyes, Kurt chuckled, “You’re ridiculous, Blaine. Come sit.” And Blaine finally sat down next to him. “My ears are just… a basket case.”

“I understand why,” Blaine quietly asserted, and Kurt could feel his warmth radiating next to him. “But it has to be nice to forget about that every once and a while. I imagine it helps with headaches.”

Kurt remembered his father rubbing them for him at the hospital when he had a concussion. “Yeah. My mom used to…” he trailed off. It was a personal story, but he could smell Blaine next to him, safe and open, and he continued. “I would have insomnia, and it would help me fall asleep. Some nights,” he lowered his voice, because this was a secret he never had anyone to tell, “I would pretend like I couldn’t sleep just so that she would come in and rub them for me.”

“That’s so sweet.”

Scoffing, Kurt shook his head, “Actually, thinking back on it, it was selfish.”

“But she was your mom, and you were just a kid,” Blaine reminded him. “I doubt she really minded.”

Kurt would never know that, because she was gone. Perhaps to get the subject off of her, he delved, “I never really saw anything bad with my ears until I started school. There was this girl,” Britney Webber. She was currently on the Cheerios with Blaine, so he didn’t say her name, “and she… pulled them one day in class and called them weird. And then everyone was calling them weird. Another boy,” Julien Welsh, he transferred sometime in middle school, “said that he thought they were cool, and I watched him get two cups of yogurt poured on his head and stuck there to mimic them. After that, he told everyone else they were creepy.” He took a deep breath, and Blaine remained silent. “Once I was old enough to realize that _he_ would rub my ears to stop me from crying loud enough for the neighbors to hear, I stopped liking them being touched.”

A hand rested on top of his, making him realize that he had been wringing them together so hard that his knuckles were white. Instead, he let himself weave their fingers together. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“God, _I’m_ sorry,” Kurt sighed. “I’m a mess. We should talk about something else.”

“You know, we _did_ have a study-date,” Blaine reminded him, his easy smile so obvious in his tone.

“Oh yeah, well, actually…” Kurt trailed off, now trying to gauge Blaine’s every movement through the corner of his eye. They were still holding hands. “Actually, I had something I wanted to show you. Something that I need your opinion on.”

Blaine blinked twice, taken aback. “Oh?”

Retrieving his laptop from atop the coffee table, Kurt booted it up, trying to keep his heartbeat steady. It was pretty nerve wracking, though, especially since he knew Blaine was going to be completely surprised. If the email he received back yesterday was wrong, though, and it wasn’t a good plan, then Kurt was going to be severely embarrassed. Which is why he needed Blaine’s approval.

He opened up the video file and played it without a word.

_o-O-o_

_Hello again, people of the internet. I have spent… nearly two hours sitting in front of my laptop, now, trying to voice all of my feelings into words that just… aren’t coming. So I’m just going to sit here, dive in, and get as much of it as I can out._

_That video of me uploaded to this account a week ago was not uploaded with my consent. It was taken off of my computer and uploaded off of an unintentional betrayal of trust, by a friend of a friend who acted rashly and childishly. I never meant for anything in it to go public. There was only one person I ever showed it to consensually, and I know he didn’t mean for anyone else to ever see it without my consent._

_And that was because… that video was filmed as a therapy technique to help monitor and resolve anger, anxiety, and depression. I have nearly a hundred other videos just like it saved on my computer; being that I have not yet watched the video posted online myself, I have no idea even which of these is the one you all have watched. From screenshots, I know that it is at least recent, thank god._

_At first, I wanted to apologize. I’m sure I was whiny, and bitter, and probably didn’t even make that much sense. At first, I didn’t mean to compartmentalize everyone into the ignorant, hatful boxset._

_But then, I realized that I do._

_I shouldn’t apologize for my personal opinions that stem from self defense. Ones that stem from daily real life experiences living through the vast majority of society that has shown itself to me. I have to stand by the fact that I shouldn’t have to sit through any more harassment. I shouldn’t have to keep spending money on a new overpriced concealer every week to hide the bruises. And if I don’t address the fact that YOU are the problem, everyone is going to assume that it’s not them, and nothing would change._

_By specifically pointing the blame at you, you are forced to look at yourself and all of your choices. Right now, if you are only seeing me as ‘The Boy With The Cat Ears’, then you are the problem. If you look at someone and see them as ‘Fag’, or ‘Spic’, or ‘Cripple’, then you are the problem. My tail does not define me. My ears do not define me._

_Humans are always comparing each other. ‘How are they better than me?’ ‘How am I better than them?’ ‘How can I be better than them?’ ‘How can I exploit their weaknesses so I can GET better than them?’ Our minds are programmed to spot differences, and that’s one of the main reasons we are so advanced. Sometimes we are so attuned to spotting differences that we forget our likeness. And that is weakness._

_So I’m sorry for sounding whiny. Had I known when I had filmed that video that it was going to reach the audience it did, I would have put a lot more thought into how I phrased things. But I’m not sorry for my emotion. I’m not sorry for my rightful opinion. I’m not sorry for calling you out._

_Every single individual view on that video is a breech on my privacy on a very deep, personal level. I contemplated for a while taking it down, but as every celebrity who has ever had nudes leak knows, once something is on the internet it is impossible to get it off._

_I’m really not expecting much to come of this video. Hopefully one or two of you will understand my message and benefit from it. Just know that that video was uploaded without my permission, and that no one was ever meant to view it._

_And because of that, you should take every word of it to heart._

_o-O-o_

The video cut off.

Bottom lip caught between his teeth, Kurt couldn’t help losing subtlety and downright gouging Blaine’s reaction. Eyes shining, Blaine’s breath looked like it had been kicked out from under him. “You…” he started, turning toward Kurt, a genuine, soft smile on his lips. “You’re planning on uploading this?”

“ _Only_ ,” Kurt insisted, blinking back toward the computer screen, which was a lot less intimidating, “if you are absolutely, completely honest with me. No coddling. No catering to what you think I want to hear.” He took a huge breath in, “Is this a good idea?”

It must say something, how he didn’t even flinch this time when Blaine took his hand. “Kurt,” Blaine called to him, making Kurt look up. “Would sharing this video to millions of people make you feel better about this situation? Are you doing it for you, or are you doing it for them?”

“Myself,” Kurt answered straight away. “100% myself.”

“Then it is a _brilliant_ idea,” at Blaine’s honey-toned words, Kurt dropped his breath, letting it gush out of him. “As long as you know,” Blaine added, in a serious tone, “that no matter what, no matter what you say, do, or try to convey, it is inevitable that there will _always_ be backlash. And that it is not your fault, and that it doesn’t have to harm you without your consent to it.”

Nodding slowly, Kurt accepted, “I know. And I’m-… prepared for it.”

Sighing, Blaine moved in to wrap his arms around Kurt’s chest, who tensed. He forced himself to relax into it, to ignore Blaine’s smell. “Kurt, I am so proud of you,” Blaine mumbled into his shoulder, which, nope, wasn’t helping.

So he pulled back. “It’s kind of weird,” he noted bemusedly to distract himself. “I emailed that news Youtuber person and they had the same advice you did nearly word-for-word.”

Blaine’s eyes went large. “You spoke to them?!”

“Well, I originally wanted them to be the one to give my message, because I liked how well they handled my story,” Kurt admitted with a shrug. “But they suggested that it was too personal for anyone but me to do it. They gave me tips on video editing, and how to do the jump-cut things.”

Still staring, Blaine blinked twice, “So you… you _spoke_ to them?” he repeated. Kurt’s eyebrow quirked, judging. Catching himself, Blaine spluttered. “I-uh- sorry. I’m just kind of-. I’ve been a long time subscriber for a while; just a little star-struck. I trust them so much more than every major news station.” Humoring him, Kurt hummed. Blaine rolled his eyes. Standing up to place the laptop back on the coffee table, Kurt hid his smile. “But I mean the next time you talk to them, I wouldn’t be opposed to you dropping my name and telling them how cool I think they are,” Blaine joked from behind him. “Because, I mean, you could totally do that now.” Smirking, Kurt flicked his tail.

Smacking Blaine right across the face with it. It was hard to contain his wicked smile, especially when Blaine’s own appalled face was cracking with a grin. “Oh, I’m _sorry_ ; did I get you?” he said shadily.

Pointing his finger at Kurt, Blaine mocked offense, “That was uncalled for!”

“So is constantly buy new colognes,” Kurt swiftly adhered the conversation, feeling satisfied when Blaine’s cheeks filled with color to successfully mask the mentioned smell.

_o-O-o_


	11. Chapter 11

_o-O-o_

The second video was uploaded later that night. As per Kurt’s request, Blaine was going to be the one monitoring the comments and view count so Kurt didn’t have to subject himself to any hate comments. Wisely, they decided to forgo meeting in the coffee shop the next morning. Instead, Kurt picked Blaine up at his house, Blaine handing him a thermos of homemade in the process.

Holding his breath, Kurt braced for the update. “It’s getting views faster than the other one did,” Blaine said sheepishly. “And I um… I definitely see a lot more people coming to your defense.”

“And the rest of them?” Kurt baited, his thumb tapping repeatedly against the steering wheel.

“It’s- It’s actually not what you’d think, at first,” he admitted, ducking his head honorably toward the topic. “They’re not concerned with calling you degrading things toward your… DNA. A lot of them think you’re calling out for attention or looking for fame; they think you’re over exaggerating your abuse. They’re trying to tell you to toughen up, or that it’s not that bad, or that relating it to racism and homophobia is a stretch. Which,” he tilted his head knowingly, “sounds to me like they don’t want to admit the fact that they’re a huge part of the problem; if not your problem, then definitely other similar ones.”

Dropping his shoulders slightly, Kurt tried to get himself to stop gripping the steering wheel so tightly. He knew that Blaine was obviously not going to mention the number of people calling him mutant, and he was especially not going to even hint at the number fetishizing him. But still, Kurt trusted him to tell the truth about the base of what people were saying. He had a few choice words he could rant on to Blaine, but he knew it would go in circles. Blaine knows Kurt’s not calling for attention. Blaine knows that attention is the _opposite_ of what Kurt wants.

“…But there’s something I think I should tell you, Kurt,” Blaine said warily, a frown in his voice. Kurt’s knuckles went white. “Last night, I got a phone call.”

Kurt nearly crashed the car. “What did they say to you?!” he spat defensively. “I swear to god, Blaine, who was it?”

“Ah- no! No, Kurt- it wasn’t-” Blaine tried to calm him spastically, “it wasn’t _that_ kind of phone call, I promise.” But underneath his breath, Kurt was still growling. “It was actually… it was actually the view.”

Pausing, Kurt waited for Blaine to clarify. When he didn’t, Kurt aided, “What view?”

“No, Kurt, _The_ View. Like, Barbra Walter’s assistant called me.”

Kurt accidentally slammed on the brakes a little too hard, halting the car completely. “ _What_?”

“I know, I was- it was really- they somehow found out that we knew each other well,” Blaine explained, looking slightly disgusted. “At first they wanted to get your phone number, but when I refused to give it to them they started asking _me_ to come on the show to talk about you. I supposed a lot of people around school haven’t really been subtle associating me with the unnamed ‘him’ in your last video. They kept trying to throw money in my face.”

“ _The View_?!” Kurt shrieked at the same time the car behind him honked obnoxiously on its horn. Kurt jumped, realizing he was still in the middle of the road and completely missed his opportunity to turn into the parking lot.

“I know- and after everything they said about yo-” He choked himself off with a weird sound and went quiet. Kurt’s ears perked, his jaw dropping as he turned to steal several, too-long glances for trying to pilot his Navigator through the busy school parking lot. Blaine’s face had seemed to lose several shades of color, and he was apparently trying to shrink into the passenger’s seat.

“ _What_!?” Kurt’s voice shrilled, his heart pounding so fast it was making him dizzy.

“They- ah- everything they said on the phone-”

“Blaine Anderson don’t you even _dare_ try to cover that up!”

No choice but to give in, Blaine squeaked, “Please park the car.”

He did- not in a very optimal spot, but he couldn’t pay attention to driving any longer. As soon as the car stopped moving, Kurt’s face was in his hands. “ _The View_ ,” he groaned, mortified.

“You… haven’t really watched _any_ media, have you?” Blaine asked in a small voice.

“My dad broke the TV last week-” It suddenly clicked why Burt refused to let Kurt try and fix it. “ _He disconnected the phone, too, oh my god-_ ” His breathing started coming in shorter and shorter, until Blaine reached over and grabbed his wrist, his thumb over the pulse. “What- What did they say? How many- how many others-?”

“Hey- hey- come here, breathe with me-” Blaine was saying, but Kurt slapped his hand away.

“Answer my question-”

“I will, Kurt, once you breathe with me. Can you breathe with me?” Breathing normally would be nice. He sat through Blaine guiding him through breathing exercises, fairly certain these were the methods for extensive yoga and _not_ for a panicking friend, but it worked the same eventually. Soon enough, all that was left was Kurt’s glare. “Kurt, there is a reason why your dad hasn’t let you watch television.”

Grinding his teeth together, Kurt let Blaine speak.

“Most major news broadcasts have handled your story. But none in a very good way,” Blaine explained nervously, rushing his words as if to try and get it all out at once. “At first, they were all just kind of repeating the same story they all gave back when you were young- you know, hyping you up and glossing over everything. But I guess your following online called them out on it too much and now they’re… it’s like they’re being sickly sweet about you. It was a lot of pity and condescending tones, and scarily getting their facts wrong. But lately…”

“Hold on- I’m like, a _daily_ spoken topic?!” Kurt worried.

“Well- it’s not-…” Blaine sighed, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. “Yes, you are. But a lot of it has to do with the fact that people keep calling in and claiming they know you. The newest topic right now is that you’re a… well, a _minx_ , to put it politely,” Blaine explained calmly, though his voice did show hint of wavering. “Someone told them that you… hussied around school. You know, you’re stealing everyone’s daughters’ virginity and pressuring guys into homosexuality. And that- well, they’ve started acting really unkindly toward you because of it,” Blaine’s nose wrinkled hatefully. “So it’s all just a bunch of hullabaloo to keep talking about you, because your story makes them a lot of money.”

Pursing his lips, Kurt pondered this for a moment. It all just felt so surreal. “Interesting,” he mumbled, frowning.

“Yeah, they don’t-”

“No, I mean the fact that you’ve used ‘minx’, ‘hussy’, and ‘hullabaloo’ all in the span of thirty seconds,” he popped open his door and slid out of the car, not waiting to see if Blaine tinted red.

_o-O-o_

He did wonder about it all throughout the first half of his day though, in small doses so as to not send himself into a panic attack. His story was being retold again all over the media; he had no idea he had such power. How are they reacting right now, after they’ve seen the newest video? Have other news outlets been trying to contact him, only to reach the harsh dial tone of a disconnected phone? Should he have modified his second video to accommodate such news outlets? He supposed he probably called them out on being horrible news tellers in the first one…

Famous news and talk show broadcasts aside, his second video seemed to only just be getting popular. Several times he walked into a classroom to see a cluster of teenagers huddled around someone’s smart phone, only to look up at him fearfully when they noticed him. Twice he actually heard clippets from it in the hallways.

It was more awkward than anything. He _had_ just basically scolded them all on a wide-scale level. He got judgmental looks constantly throughout the day, everyone turning their nose up at him. When he ranted to Blaine about it in Glee, Blaine explained that it was because this ‘following’ of people he had were all criticizing students and faculty in the school who had ever been anything less than a best friend to him. Which was, well, _everyone_ , really. Blaine even admitted he saw certain people getting actual hate-mail on Twitter and Facebook.

Judging by the incredibly violent locker-shove a few periods later, Azimo was one of them.

Stars burst behind his eyelids as his head collided with the metal. Distantly, he heard Azimo threaten, “You get any of your pussy little fans to mess with me again, and I _swear_ I will dropkick you into next year.” He pulled himself upright with as much dignity as he could, but his head shrieked with too much pain to conjure up a retort. Of course, Azimo had found the one moment when Blaine _wasn’t_ with him to do this.

Grumbling to himself, he knew Azimo wasn’t done messing with him today. Last week had been weird among his bullies. He had his whole emotionless, deathly air about him for some of it and then all he got for the rest of it was a half-hearted elbow to his side (which, hey, still bruised). He supposed maybe most of them would lay off for the time being, hopefully forever, but he should have known it wouldn’t last too long. He should have guessed that once they got past the initial shock of it, they’d all be pissed. Still, he had been hoping for a least a month.

And then sure enough, lunch came around.

He had been sitting with the Glee club for lunch ever since the first time, still just silently watching them interact and only speaking when spoken to. It had been casual and pleasant, despite Rachel trying to persuade them to do an impromptu number from Rent, claiming that _it’s the perfect number to get away with doing impromptu and we need to keep ourselves ready for the spotlight at every given moment._

The only warning Kurt had gotten was a sharp knee to his back and Azimo calling him a faggot before he and everything in the near vicinity of him was suddenly drowning in twittering, floating, little ripples of dark green leaves. It had to be an entire gallon-sized bucket-full of the stuff packing over everything around him. In his shock, Kurt accidentally gasped. The tiny little bits-of-leaves suffocated him when he took his breath in, sticking up his nose and down his throat. The quick whiff had Kurt panicking.

He slapped a hand over his nose and mouth to keep from breathing. Both his nasal cavities and his throat burned from the substance lodged inside of them, and he yearned to cough it out. But he couldn’t allow himself. He needed to _not breathe, you can’t breathe here, not underneath this pile of catnip you’re drowning in._ He could already feel himself loosening up, his vision getting sharper and fuzzier at the same time.

No matter how hard he tried though, he had to cough. He fought it all of the way, but the tickle and burn demanded action. And then he had to breathe, and _oh god, oh god don’t breathe it in, not here_ -

In his panic, Kurt heard something that caught his attention. “Excuse me, what do you think you are doing?! HEY! I’m talking to you!” It was Rachel Berry, 5’2’’, 106 pounds, chasing after the very big, very intimidating Azimo Adams.

Kurt was trying to silently control a coughing fit. He was getting dizzy from lack of air, or maybe it was from the air he kept accidentally breathing in, but he could feel Mercedes’ hands stop from where they had been brushing his shoulders off to watch the confrontation.

“Do you think this is funny?!” Rachel was yelling dramatically, hands on her hips in defiance. Her presence somehow threw Azimo for a loop, because he cowered. “Do you think this is original?! All you meatheads ever do is pick on Kurt day after day using the same overused tactics stolen from 1950’s Greaser flicks! Maybe if you spend a little less time bullying and a little more time practicing football, our team would actually win a game! Kurt’s more level-headed, talented, and brave than any of you ever will be-!”

Her rant continued, but it was sounding increasingly more and more like white noise. This wasn’t good- any longer and Kurt was going to fall completely under. Though his knees felt like buckling underneath him, he forced himself upright and bolted from the room, hardly even hearing Mercedes calling after him.

Bursting into the hallway at such a speed took its toll on him. He took in a large breath of air and continued running, the linoleum floor pounding under his feet without him even knowing where he was going until he collided with something big. The wind completely knocked out of him as he fell to the floor.

“Whoa- oh, Kurt!” Finn Hudson said rather dopily. “My bad. I- are you okay?”

_No, no, no_. The world around him spun and fizzled. _Reply to Finn. Ask him to take you somewhere- anywhere- private-_

But he couldn’t formulate the words. All that fell from his mouth when he opened it to try was a tiny, choked mewl. “Wha-? Are you purring? What’s all over-? Is that catni- Oh. Oh. Oh god, what do I do? Wait- wait right here; we have home ec. together right now-” _No, Finn, don’t leave me here-_ Kurt mentally protested, but Finn didn’t go far. He stuck his head into a nearby classroom. “Blaine? I think Kurt needs you.”

Oh. _Ohohoh_. Blaine. He could- he could smell him- _no, you idiot, don’t smell, don’t breathe_ \- Blaine’s head popped out of the classroom urgently, immediately spotting Kurt on the ground and rushing over.

“He’s like, covered in catnip, I think? I’ve never really seen catnip, but I don’t think it’s weed-” Finn was saying, only to be cut off by Blaine.

“Okay, Kurt, come on, we have to go, can you stand up?” Kurt couldn’t hold himself back from breathing any longer. He coughed loudly several times, working up the bit burning his throat while his eyes watered gratefully. The pungent catnip and trickling scent of Blaine were a bad combination. His forehead pressed into Blaine’s shoulder.

The ground beneath Kurt left him as he was hoisted upwards from under his arms. His helpers were uneven- Finn was nearly a full foot taller than Blaine, and thus Kurt was dizzyingly lopsided. Finn was doing most of the carrying, making it difficult for Kurt to press his face into Blaine like he wanted. Finn’s shoulder was there, though, the perfect height to rub his ear into.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head from the feeling. From the first touch against his ear, the scent of the catnip was no longer unwelcome; on the contrary, he pressed his face into his shirt to breathe it in more, still working his ear against the shoulder. At some point, he was pulled away from his ear-scratcher. He growled at the abandonment, but dropped his annoyance when his nose sniffed out Blaine.

“He’s actually kinda cute like this. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s high as anything, I mean,” Finn’s words cracked through, but Kurt barely comprehended them. “It makes him much less intimidating. Ah- dude, is he kissing your neck?”

Licking, really, right over _that spot_. He could taste whatever cologne residue he was cleaning off, and was glad after a few strokes when it wiped off and he could devour where Blaine’s pulse was throbbing underneath it. The throat was vibrating, instructing Finn to do things. “…close the door when you leave. A-And just leave the clothes outside and let me know when they’re there, okay?”

A door closed, and Kurt blinked his eyes until they were as unfuzzy as he could get them, his ears alert. They were in the Nurse’s bathroom; he knew it really well.

“Okay, Kurt-”

Kurt’s chest rumbled happily when Blaine’s hand rested on it. He crowded back inward until he could rub his jaw line against Blaine’s cheekbone. It wasn’t until his chest felt cold that Kurt realized Blaine had been undoing the buttons. Graphically, he moaned his sparked arousal. He bit down on the sensitive expanse of skin just under where Blaine’s jaw met his ear.

“Ah- Kurt,” Blaine said as he pushed Kurt back half a foot. “I’m taking off your shirt so you can shower. Your clothes are _soaked_ in catnip; we need to wash it out.”

But it still felt like getting naked to Kurt. He pawed at Blaine’s polo playfully until Blaine brought his hand up to Kurt’s face, his thumb catching under Kurt’s jaw. Breath hitching, Kurt tilted his head to give the thumb room to scratch. Hesitantly, they did, and Kurt’s eyes once again rolled into the back of his head. He had stopped his fidgeting, even his tail going still as Blaine rubbed into the spot.

“Oh, good, your off-button,” Blaine humored, slipping Kurt’s shirt off his shoulders. He somehow managed to get Kurt’s undershirt over his head with one hand as well, while Kurt positioned several different spots under his jaw for Blaine to scratch. “I have to stop for a minute.”

Suddenly, Blaine was on his knees. Kurt’s head swam. He was unlacing Kurt’s boots and pulling them off his feet, then his socks. Kurt allowed him, feeling himself purr at the sight of Blaine before him. When Blaine stood up again, Kurt returned his nose to the crook of his neck, only to have Blaine press him away gently. Ducking his blushing face, Blaine mumbled, “I think I’m gunna leave your pants on.”

Reaching behind him, Blaine fiddled with turning on the private shower, mumbling something else loud enough for Kurt’s ears to twitch, but not to understand. Eventually, Blaine turned around and faced him, saying something in a bright, welcoming tone and open arms.

What else was Kurt supposed to assume that meant? He leaned in, coming close enough to Blaine’s face to bump noses, but was instead met with four fingers clamping over his lips. Frustrated, Kurt growled and turned his head away. Nothing made sense to him, why Blaine was pushing him away; humans had dumb rules about these things. With his tail twitching beside him, Kurt leaned down to where he could smell the catnip on his shirt, bringing it back up off of the ground to inhale it deeply.

“No, no-” Blaine scolded, taking the shirt away from him. Ears falling flat in annoyance, Kurt tried to grab the shirt again.

Kurt nearly toppled over as Blaine tactically used the shirt to direct him into the small cubical with the water falling from the showerhead. Hissing loudly, Kurt braced both hands on either side of the shower, nearly elbowing Blaine in the face so as to _not get wet_.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, Kurt,” Blaine’s plea registered as he moved to wrap his arms around Kurt’s waist and shove him in, “don’t be cliché. You take showers all the time.”

_Yes, but it’s wet_ , Kurt wanted to argue. _I like my tail better fluffy and warm. Do you know how long it takes for this fur to dry? Don’t you know how easy it is to get water stuck in these ears?_ But because he couldn’t say this, he resorted to an indignant, loud mrowl.

The two of them struggled, Blaine having the upper hand with his strong arms encasing Kurt’s waist. Hissing and spitting every time the water splashed him, Kurt pressed himself as far backwards as he could, only running into Blaine’s solid form crowding him. Eventually, Kurt’s feet slipped and Blaine had the chance to toss him fully in the little square of a shower, slamming the frosted door in his face and leaning on it with all his strength before he could force an escape.

Long and pathetic, Kurt meowed his sorrow, pleading for his release. The water was already soaking his body, seeping into the deepest layer on his tail’s coat. He felt drenched and heavy, dreading the moment when the warmness of the water would fade and he would be left cold, forced to wait hours before the dampness would fade completely.

On the other, dry side of the frosted glass, Blaine’s voice was instructing him.

_Betrayal_ , Kurt’s mind supplied him instead of letting him focus on the words. His nose wrinkled. _The lowest of the low: when the hand you love throws you in the middle of a rainstorm to drown in an ocean of wetness. To stand completely dry on the other side while you risk hours of shaking your head every-which-way to get that last drop of water out of your funnel-shaped ear. You show your love to no one, Kurt Hummel, and you will never have to risk this betrayal again._

Moody and enraged, Kurt flaunted his heartbreak by curling up into a ball against the wall in the largest space he could find that didn’t have that demon substance soaking into every hair on his body. Taking special caution to hold his tail up out of the spray, Kurt glared at the fuzzy blob of Blaine through the door. He actually hissed when Blaine had the nerve to laugh at him.

It took several minutes of brooding before, finally, Kurt had the ability to realize his ridiculousness.

Catnip.

He stood up quickly, and then remembered that he was half naked while there was a very not naked Blaine partially visible through the frosted glass of the shower door. He regained the decency to pull the shower curtain.

“Do I need to worry about you bolting anymore?” Blaine asked light-heartedly.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Kurt groaned, blushing heavily.

Blaine chuckled. “I’m going to go grab you a towel and your change of clothes, and get your old ones as far away as possible. I don’t know if you want to um. Throw your pants over for me?”

Grunting loudly in reply, Kurt tried to focus more on cleaning out his hair and less on how mortifying this situation was. Working his sopping wet pants off, he tossed them over the side of the shower door where they disappeared, Blaine leaving the room moments later. His brain felt like warm, pleasant fuzz, but he didn’t let himself fall into it again.

God, what was wrong with him? The memories of the past ten minutes washed over him, and the realization of what he had done made him cringe inward on himself. The combination of the catnip and the pheromones was awful. Kurt would have done better to let himself pass out from not breathing. What must Blaine have thought of him? It was disgusting, the way Kurt had thrown himself at him. Blaine didn’t deserve that.

Ears perking at the sound of the door opening again, Kurt scrubbed at his scalp. “Your clothes are on the chair. Are you feeling a bit better?”

“I’m fine,” Kurt bit, harder than he intended.

There was a pause, and through the scent of the cheap, god awful soap Kurt could smell the tension rise up in Blaine at Kurt’s tone. “O-Okay,” but he paused, and Kurt squeezed his eyes shut. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Blaine.”

“Okay,” Blaine said meekly. “I’ll be outside.”

_Great_ , Kurt thought to himself as the click of the door told him Blaine left the room. _Drive him farther away from you. That’s exactly what you need to do right now._ Ready to send his head through the frosted glass door, Kurt busied himself lathering his hair one more time with the damn pharmacy two-in-one shampoo to make sure the drug would be completely washed out. His eyes burned with ready-to-drop tears, but he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction, so he held it.

After making sure the hair on his head and tail were void of any residue, whether cheap shampoo or catnip, he stepped out of the small shower, wrapping himself securely in the stiff, white towel. At least the towel smelled clean. He dried off and slipped his spare clothes on, grumbling at the fact that he had nothing to style his hair (and protect it from dehydration, god) or dry his tail with. Although Kurt’s catnip induced brain overreacted, his tail did get very cold if he didn’t blow dry it, and the fur was so thick near the bone that it would take hours to air dry.

Belly flipping with the nerves of guilt and self-hatred, Kurt waited at the door, his ear pressed against it. He knew that Blaine didn’t deserve to be snapped at like that, especially not after everything he’s done for him. Behind the door, Kurt could hear Finn talking. “…just so good at handling him. I honestly had no idea what to do, but I knew that you, like, were an expert at him, so.”

Blaine’s wary voice carried through the door, “I really wouldn’t call myself that. I just… I’m just good at emergencies, I guess. But, look, you really don’t have to wait here with me. He’s kind of… short-tempered right now.”

“Nah, it’s cool. It’s like, you know, I’m getting out of class for it anyway.”

Just as Kurt started to get riled up again, Blaine spoke, “That’s… kind of really rude, Finn,” Kurt’s opened jaw of offense snapped shut. “Kurt was just drugged against his will as an act of harassment, most likely by someone who has been physically and emotionally tormenting him for years.”

Backpedaling, Finn was quick to try to redeem himself, “Oh- No-no- That’s not what I meant! I was really only joking. Of course I’m here because I want to be here for him. I really, really didn’t mean it seriously like that. It was supposed to be a joke.”

“Okay, well, you should probably refrain from joking like that about Kurt’s harassment. It’s belittling,” Blaine informed him sternly. “Unless you are making it really clear to him that your statement is to lighten the tension, and you guys are close enough where he can trust you to know you actually are sitting here for him.”

“Oh jeez, I’m really bad at this, aren’t I?” Finn worried genuinely. “I don’t want to be rude. How do I stop myself from saying something I don’t know is rude?”

“Try thinking your words over in your head from his point of view multiple times before you say it,” Blaine suggested helpfully. “It’ll take a while to really see his situation, but it’s important.”

“We should come up with a secret system or something,” Finn humored, sounding completely serious. “Something where I can run things by you and you can explain why it’s okay or not okay to say or something.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Blaine assured. “It’s actually not as difficult as it seems right now.”

Kurt could hear Finn frowning.

A new voice shrilled from the other side of the door. “Oh, Blaine, there you- Oh, hi Finn!” It was definitely Rachel Berry’s loud personality, her one-inch heels clacking on the ground as she walked near, “I take it Kurt’s in there?”

“Um, yeah, he’s cleaning up,” Blaine told her.

“How horrible, right?” Rachel gossiped, though she did have the decency to speak sympathetically. “I feel absolutely terrible for him. Is he okay? I didn’t even know he could be affected-”

“He’ll be fine, Rach,” Blaine said, and Kurt took pride in how Blaine’s voice had been short and suspicious. “Did you need something?”

“Oh, yeah,” she composed herself. “Principal Figgins wants to talk to him. They want to file an incident report, and they need him to make a statement. I mean, Azimo’s already been suspended, but they want to-”

Shell-shocked, Kurt swung the bathroom door open with enough force that it slammed against the wall, making everyone in the crowded Nurse’s Office hit the roof. “ _What_?!” he shrieked for good measure.

“Oh my god,” Rachel squeaked, a hand over her heart. Finn, particularly, looked like he had almost fallen out of his chair.

“Azimo’s been suspended?!” Kurt asked, his voice several octaves high.

Still getting back the sudden shock of Kurt’s entrance, Rachel stammered, “W-Well, yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t he be?”

But Kurt stayed rooted in his spot, mouth agape and bewildered. In the past ten years of harassment within this school, Kurt could count on one hand how many times his aggressors had been reprimanded. Especially given the nature of this attack- the catnip- the likelihood of Azimo getting in trouble with the school had been so little Kurt hadn’t even thought to look for a glimmer of hope. He didn’t even tempt to expect it anymore. Other incidences in Kurt’s past involving catnip had never evoked proper means of punishment; apparently, the drug was not illegal to have in schools because regular humans were not susceptible to it, and the fact that Kurt _was_ was never so important. The school board put up a fight against him when he brought up banning it, claiming that they had more important matters to discuss that affected the whole school instead of just one student.

_Perhaps,_ Kurt thought to himself bitterly, _the school is more angry this time because the giant pile made a mess in their lunchroom._ That _would_ be one of the only reasons the school would actually care about this incident.

Blaine, too, seemed to understand the unlikelihood, for he was squinting hard. “Did a teacher report it?”

“Tina and Mercedes went right to Figgins after they couldn’t find where Kurt ran off to,” Rachel explained. “I, of course, would have gone with them, but I was in the midst of telling him off. Mr. Schue had to drag me away; it was very dramatic,” she seemed pleased with herself, as she brushed her hair off of her shoulder. “Mr. Schue witnessed it all, though, so he helped verify Tina and Mercedes’s eyewitness stories.”

Kurt’s lips pursed, taking it all in. It didn’t line up; if Figgins had simply wanted to please these students and teachers, surely Azimo would have gotten off with a few detentions. Azimo was a highly regarded student, being first string on the football team; would Figgins suspend him so easily? _But the football team was no longer in season, so maybe…_

Apprehensively, Blaine stood up from his seat, making a few cautious steps toward Kurt. His eyebrows rose high on his head. “Did you want me to go with you?”

Before he could even think through his response, Kurt waved him off, “No, I can handle it. You should get back to class.”

The heartbroken look on Blaine’s face went right through Kurt’s chest. “Okay,” Blaine shrugged, clearly affected.

“Wait, actually-” Kurt amended a little too quickly, grabbing Blaine’s wrist before he walked away. Bright, weary eyes looked up at him. “Can you walk me there?”

Kurt, who had hoped for Blaine to smile appreciatively up at him, was disappointed when his lips merely tightened into a line. A non-enthusiastic, but clearly accepting shrug told Kurt that he was still upset.

Blaine’s lost enthusiasm seemed to be picked up by Finn, who had stood up rather clumsily. “Dude, do you guys need any help? I mean, I can walk with you, if you need me to.” He gestured lamely, eyes hopeful up at Kurt, “I really don’t mind helping.”

“Finn,” Blaine warned gently, kindly, trying to find the nicest way to let him down. “I think I’ll just walk Kurt. Tell Ms. Salvano that I’ll be right back for me, okay?”

“O-Oh, right. Yeah,” Finn stammered, gaze falling to the floor. “I guess I’ll just-… yeah…”

Downtrodden, Finn made to shuffle himself out of the room. “Wait, Finn,” Kurt called after him, making the taller boy jump and flinch, as if he was expecting Kurt to yell at him. “Thank you. Really,” Kurt said instead, and the expression Finn made when he heard it was near comical. “Not many people would have done what you did, so… thank you. It means a lot.”

“Oh, yeah, well,” Finn continued eloquently, trying to contain his bashful grin. “Right. You’re welcome- I mean, no problem, dude.”

While he was on a roll, Kurt then turned to Rachel to bestow the same gratitude toward her. “You too, Rachel,” her smile widened, though it was sweet and genuine. “Thank you for bitching Azimo out for me when I couldn’t.”

“Well,” she shrugged, also bashful. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s dramatic prose. I wish I could have done more.”

_God, this is weird,_ Kurt couldn’t help thinking, though he was legitimately grateful. It was a bizarre moment, one that he had never in his lifetime imagined happening. But sure enough, both Finn and Rachel waved goodbye happily, and he, to his surprise, returned it.

“You like them,” Blaine accused softly.

“Rachel’s still as annoying as ever,” Kurt fought just as light, fiddling with his hands. “But I can’t really be picky. If they want to be on my side, I shouldn’t protest it.”

“Yeah, but you actually like them,” Blaine insisted, ducking his head.

“Pull my leg all you like; I’m never going to admit it,” he humored, hoping to keep the light banter. But, of course, it fell soon enough when Blaine didn’t ping anything back to him. He shuttered out a breath, controlling his nerves and guilt. “It’s hard for me to appreciate the people who are nice to me, because I always expect them to hurt me in the end.”

Blaine looked up at him, eyes wide and damp. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Blaine,” Kurt began, looking around at the office. The nurse had one eye on them, and it made Kurt feel incredibly small. “Walk with me?” he asked, and they stepped out into the empty hallway. Throat clenching, Kurt could feel himself shivering from a mixture of cold and anxiety. “I’m so sorry, Blaine.”

Eyebrows furrowing, Blaine frowned, “For what?” _For what_. Kurt’s chest felt like it had caved inward. He couldn’t get any air up to conjure words. After a moment of Kurt struggling, Blaine stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Kurt, you’re not- you’re not in control of yourself around catnip. You didn’t-… do anything that made me uncomfortable.” And because Kurt sent him a dubious look, he reassured, “I promise, Kurt. I get it. I stopped you.”

Needing to say something, Kurt averted his eyes, “It’s not an excuse.”

Shoulders shrugging, Blaine lowered his voice, despite the empty hallway. “It’s not like alcohol, though. When people are drunk, they still have their ability to tell right from wrong. That’s not what catnip is like for you, and I understand that. I’m telling you, Kurt,” he said with so much passion that Kurt had no choice but to look at him, “you did not do anything that made me uncomfortable. I stopped you because I know sober you would want to be stopped.”

He was truly too perfect for his own good. Eyes closing, Kurt shook his head. “Blaine, you don’t deserve everything I put you through,” thankfully, Blaine didn’t make to protest so Kurt didn’t have to cut him off. They began walking again. “And I really, really hate putting you through it all. I’m sorry for getting short with you before. I guess I just… I don’t know how else to act. When things start going wrong, I rely on my Cat to get me through things, but He has a way of being stubborn and independent. I hate asking for help. I hate having to rely on people to help me. You don’t even know how long it took for me to accept help from my mom and dad. You know, I only had two years with my mom, and after all she did for me I only remember ever telling her ‘thank you’ once?”

Slightly choked at the memory, Kurt swallowed hard. He was still fiddling with his hands, desperate to reach out and seek condolence in Blaine’s.

“And I realize how much I still do that,” he said spitefully, aimed at himself. “It’s my biggest regret, and yet I am constantly making the same mistake. I want to change that,” he turned to Blaine, to find he had already been staring, a crease between his brow. “I don’t think I’ll ever like being helped, especially when it’s something so big, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t express gratitude to those who help me. Especially you. I am so sorry, Blaine. I really, really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’m just… I feel so guilty to put you through this.”

They had reached the principal’s office by now, and were standing outside of it to continue the important conversation. Blaine nodded, processing Kurt’s words. Kurt waited for him, unable to think of anything else to say in the moment. “You shouldn’t,” Blaine finally spoke quietly. “You’ve been through so much. Don’t feel guilty about me.”

“Nothing that I’ve been through gives me a right to hurt you back,” Kurt told him.

“I feel like you just… don’t want me. Especially after what I did-”

“Hey, no, come on,” Kurt panicked, finally initiating physical contact by bumping his shoulder into Blaine’s, making him turn to look at him. “If I’m not allowed to feel guilty, then neither are you. Thank you for stopping me from… attacking you. And I’m sorry for how rude I was. I tried to close myself off, because that’s what I always had to do. But I shouldn’t do that with you. Sometimes my Cat takes over when I need to protect myself.”

“You know I can see it?” Blaine said suddenly, throwing Kurt off. “I can see your ‘Cat’, as you call it, when it takes over you. Your eyes change, and you hold yourself differently. You speak differently.”

“Then we need to set something up,” Kurt said importantly. “If- If you ever catch me acting out because of my Cat, whether we’re fighting or He’s just making me act horribly, you let me know. Just so I can take a minute to try and control it.” He paused for a minute, watching the idea wash Blaine over with apprehension. “We can call it ‘Tabatha’.”

Blaine snorted, despite himself. “’Tabatha’,” he repeated fondly. His smile faded slightly, “You think that would help?”

Kurt sighed, “Yeah. Sometimes I don’t realize my Cat has taken over until it’s too late. This way I can know when it’s happening.”

“…Okay,” Blaine said after a moment, looking a little more like himself.

Sighing again as a large weight lifted off of his shoulders, Kurt himself look into the glass door of the principal’s office. “I guess I better go in,” Kurt gestured, rather annoyed, toward the door to the office. “See what the hell is going on.”

“You sure you don’t want me to back you up?”

“You’ve done enough,” Kurt said fondly, admiring the way the corners of Blaine’s lips were finally quirking upwards. “I can handle whatever scolding I need to give. Thank you again, though. For everything.”

Smiling a little bit more, Blaine took Kurt’s free hand and gave it a squeeze. Kurt blushed, realizing how intimate their stance was, holding hands while Kurt’s other rested on Blaine’s shoulder. “I’ll get the full rant in Calculus?” Blaine asked.

“Absolutely,” Kurt assured him.

And then Blaine pulled away, looking reluctant to do so in the way his bottom lip strained and pouted. The goodbye felt like it was missing something, but it wasn’t until Blaine was several yards down the hallway that Kurt realized what it was. His heart skipped several beats. Perhaps he wasn’t as over his catnip as he thought he was, because something in him yearned to chase Blaine down and give him a proper goodbye.

Instead, Kurt slipped inside the office dejectedly.

Azimo, who had been skulking in a seat in the waiting area, looked up at him upon his entry. There was a jolt of fear at his murderous glare that Kurt had to control. He denied the fear and stood himself taller, internally grumbling at the fact that his hair was not in its high coif like usual, but instead flopped wetly against his forehead. His tail, too, was sopping and cold, making his indignant flick much less intimidating.

The student secretary at the desk told him to walk through, so he did so with his nose high in the air. Principal Figgins regarded him as he walked in. “Ah, Mr. Hummel,” Principal Figgins put his pen down on top of the form he had just been writing on. “Please take a seat; I was just in the middle of filing the incident.”

“Azimo’s been suspended?” Kurt wasted no time portraying the fact that he was suspicious. He sat down at the very end of the seat, his legs crossed, tail taping, and eyes squinting.

The principal looked at him twice, his mouth twitching. “Of course. We have a cafeteria full of eye witnesses of Mr. Adams harassing you with narcotics. We can’t not do anything.”

Clenching his jaw, Kurt spat, “What about the last time we had a cafeteria full of eye witnesses of him harassing me, what then?”

“Mr. Hummel, surely you are not arguing for me to not punish Mr. Adams?” Principal Figgins asked.

Kurt’s insides boiled like lava. He repositioned himself on the seat so he sat even further. “Well, if he gets off once, I don’t see why he shouldn’t get off every single time. Wasn’t that the policy you had in place here? Based off of past experience, I could have sworn,” he finally sat back, crossing his arms and awaiting his response.

Principal Figgins’s face held hard, the lines around his mouth more predominant. “Last time was a different circumstance. He was using drugs against you this time-”

“Oh, but catnip isn’t a drug, didn’t you know? Humans can’t get high off of it. It holds no need to be banned from the school, it’s completely harmless. I should know; I’ve been arguing to the school board on this matter since the eighth grade, and that’s always their stance,” Kurt quipped, his face held harder.

“In light of recent events, the school board will be discussing such matters shortly,” Figgins pursed his lips fully, his hands clasped together on the desk.

“In light of recent events as in what happened during lunch, or…” Kurt trailed off, something brand new dawning on him. He blinked twice, incredulous, sitting back fully in his seat, “ _Or in light of recent events as in the reputation this school is getting on nationwide media_.”

Principal Figgins remained quiet, his eyes ablaze.

Jaw dropping at the silent admission, Kurt’s entire body filled with heat. He clacked his jaw shut, livid, and stood up suddenly. He had made two steps into storming out when he turned on his heel.

He had his finger pointing out determinedly. “Azimo Adams dumped a gallon of catnip over my head while I was eating lunch,” he whipped out his statement so fast that if it weren’t for the incredible emphasis on his diction, would have been completely impossible to register. “I ran out of the cafeteria to save myself the embarrassment of the effects the drug had on me in front of everyone. I ran into friends who took me to the Nurse’s office so I could shower and sober up.”

He wasn’t finished. He took a great breath.

“I demand Azimo Adams be suspended and held accountable for his actions. I demand every act of harassment in this school be dealt with for the safety of its students and _not_ for the representation of its adult school board. I demand to be treated with respect, and not just because you want to save your own ass, but because I deserve it.”

It was a wonder how the glass door didn’t shatter on his way out.

_o-O-o_


	12. Chapter 12

_o-O-o_

He eventually cooled down by the time Calculus ended, and he had his chance during the lab to bash-talk everything with Blaine. “I wish I had gone,” Blaine had admitted, quirking a smile. “You really are pretty scary to be yelled at.” To which Kurt shrugged mock-concededly. Conversation between them that period still felt rather cordial, though, which made Kurt feel sticky. He could tell that Blaine was still weary, still unsure of how to handle him.

So while Blaine was at Cheerio practice, Kurt broke into his house (his mom answered the door) and left a bouquet of rather expensive red and yellow roses on his bed. The card read “ _Thank you. You deserve these and more._ ” in fancy script, and was signed with only a decorative, small K.

He had spent that night “fixing” the “broken” television with his dad, having deadpanned that his father probably should have been the one to let him know how far his story had spread. If Kurt had found out any other way than from Blaine, he’s not sure what sort of damage he would have caused.

“You’re still talking to Blaine?” Burt grumbled, eyeing his son carefully as he fiddled behind the television.

Stiffening from where he sat on the couch staring at his phone, Kurt lifted his chin. “Of course, Dad.” Burt huffed, turning back to his work, his mood sodden. Kurt scoffed. “Don’t go acting like you don’t forgive him. You guys were closer than he and I ever were.”

“That was before he hurt you,” Burt mumbled, only just audible for Kurt’s ears.

Kurt sat up straight. “Are you serious, right now?”

“I just don’t understand how _you,_ of all people, could forgive him so quickly for doing what he did,” Burt said, louder this time.

Taken aback, Kurt pocketed his phone. “I haven’t, for your information,” he replied, trying to keep the snark out of his voice. “But I’m working on it. Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you _want_ me to forgive him?” Burt stayed quiet for a moment, unknowingly letting off a pungent, uneasy smell that clumped in the pit of Kurt’s stomach. “I really don’t understand-”

“I was prepared to take you to _therapy_ again, did you know that?” Burt interrupted, finally setting his tool down and turning toward Kurt. He removed his baseball cap, running a nervous hand over his bald head before replacing it with a sigh. “He hurt you, and you’re my son. You’re all I’ve got, Kurt. How am I _supposed_ to react toward him?”

Trying to relax the muscles in his face, Kurt leaned forward on the couch. An almost sardonic smile threatened to lift his lips. “You’re worse than my Cat, sometimes,” he commented, and Burt looked up at him like he was crazy. “Listen, Dad, I’ve already decided that Blaine deserves to be forgiven. What he did, he didn’t do on purpose with malicious intents. He made a mistake. I’m confident he would never intentionally hurt me, especially not on that scale. I know you have a right to be protective of me, but in the end, it’s my choice.”

Sighing again, Burt rolled his eyes. “When did you get better at this than me, huh?” Kurt could tell that he had won.

He did quirk a smile. “I tell you what- how about Blaine comes over on Friday for dinner. You can spend all night reminding him that you have a shotgun upstairs, and then at the end you guys have a heart-to-heart right here on this couch to clear everything up.”

His father laughed heartily. “I already invited Finn and Carole for Friday, actually.”

Kurt’s smile turned smug. “Finn and Blaine are friends.”

“Alright fine,” Burt caved. “Now get off your ass and go get me my Phillips head. You’re a lousy assistant.”

The next morning at coffee, Blaine greeted him with tight lips and a mock-glare. “Kurt, you honestly did not have to buy me flowers. You did nothing wrong!”

Kurt feigned deafness, then invited him to dinner on Friday.

It seemed that Kurt and Blaine had returned to their normal banter, though Kurt couldn’t deny that the only thing different was more of what he could only assume to be flirting. It wasn’t ever something Kurt realized he was doing; he could have sworn he and Blaine were just passing compliments to and from each other in Glee club until Mercedes winked at him. It didn’t help that Kurt had really started noticing how well the (still horrible) tight, red Cheerio uniform pants hugged the swell of Blaine’s ass. Innocent things like Blaine getting up to throw out their coffee cups suddenly seemed so daunting for Kurt. He was angry with himself for even noticing. He had no right to be looking at Blaine like that, and frankly it was creepy and he should stop.

Certainly, they weren’t _actually_ flirting. The pair of them were just good at conversation and liked to compliment each other. It wasn’t as if they were batting their eyelashes like Tina kept acting like they were. Blaine’s eyelashes were just long, and he looked at everyone like that. Friends could exchange flattery; not that Kurt’s an expert, but what was the difference between flirting with and flattering someone but the level of platonic intention? Kurt and Blaine were platonic. Which is why he should not be looking at Blaine’s butt.

As soon as Blaine walked through his front door on Friday, he couldn’t help noticing it. Did Blaine even own a pair of pants that _didn’t_ flatter his ass? He made the awful Cheerio pants look erotic, let alone the acid washed skinny jeans, and it just made no sense.

Though the thought was hard to shake, eventually Blaine’s increasing anxiety called for Kurt’s attention. Burt had been harshly giving him the cold shoulder as soon as he saw him, not even returning Blaine’s kind greeting. It took about fifteen minutes of antagonizing puppy-dog eyes before Kurt had to assume Blaine was breaking.

“ _He just told me he had a shotgun upstairs_ ,” Blaine hissed nervously into Kurt’s ear as he came into the kitchen where Kurt was preparing the last of the lasagna.

“I told you he was going to do that,” Kurt tried to say sympathetically, though his facial expression may have betrayed him. “He just wants to scare you a bit.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think he _actually_ had one, or that he was _actually_ going to allude to using it,” to add to the picture, a rogue curl had broken free from its hair gel hold. “I never truly noticed how frightening your dad is before.”

Eyebrow raised fondly, Kurt cooed. “He’s a teddy bear. Don’t-”

Just then, though, Burt had walked into the kitchen. Blaine squeaked, calling “ _Bathroom_ ,” meekly as he fled the room. Kurt sent an unimpressed glare to his father.

“I don’t know how long I can keep this up,” Burt admitted once Blaine was out of earshot. “The kid brought _homemade garlic knots_. How am I supposed to stay mad at that?”

“Well you _could_ lay off a bit,” Kurt scolded as the timer beeped on the lasagna. “Blaine is the most docile creature on the planet. All you have to do is frown in his direction and he’ll obey.”

Dinner was called, and the five inhabitants sat around the Hummel’s small kitchen table. In all of Kurt’s life, Kurt has never seen the table with the middle leaflet insert, and it definitely made the already small kitchen even smaller. They cramped themselves in together, Blaine nearly urinating in fear when he was almost seated next to Burt. Taking pity on him, Kurt unsubtly pushed him aside so Kurt could be a buffer between them.

Thankfully, Carole took an immediate liking to Blaine, but Kurt was pretty sure most of it was out of the same kind of pity Kurt was feeling. “The garlic knots are delicious, Blaine! You cook?”

Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, Blaine shrugged. “Thank you. Not a lot, though,” he admitted, a slight blush over his cheeks. “My mom gets to travel a lot, and she always likes to learn one dish from every country she visits. She teaches me, sometimes, if she has the time.”

“That’s so cool,” Finn commented, barely having swallowed his bite of pasta down. “The farthest I’ve ever gone is Arkansas, and I don’t really think I’d want to recreate the cuisine there…”

“So what does your mom do,” Burt grumbled, and _god_ , Kurt thought, _does he have to be so accusatory?_ _Blaine’s going to end up disintegrating into the floorboard._

“Ah-She- ah… she writes,” he coughed lightly, remembering to straighten his back. “She’s an author. She writes about- like, other cultures and charities and stuff.”

“And your dad?” Burt pressed.

“He’s the- the CEO of a big company,” Blaine squeaked.

“What company?”

“A- Ah…-”

“ _Geez_ , Dad,” Kurt exclaimed, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Proving a point, Kurt leaned forward to where Carole sat across from him. “Carole, what’s your hometown? What’s your mother’s favorite wine? Have you been to Topeka? How’s your third-cousin twice-removed doing? What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever gotten a pimple?”

“ _Alright_ ,” Burt huffed, a quick chuckle leaving him before he could stop it. Carole was grinning and Finn laughing, and Kurt felt Blaine relax in closer toward him in appreciation.

It was strange how well the group all fit together after that, albeit Burt’s sticky façade toward Blaine. Having so many people in this small kitchen was overwhelming for Kurt, who was always so ridged and snippy whenever anything about his home was different. He supposed it must have been the specific people in general; he has always liked Carole, ever since she first walked into his hospital room and promised to not pressure a physical exam on him. Blaine was of course, Blaine, and Finn was… oddly likable, though Kurt was pretty sure a lot of that had to do with the fact that he had taken to Blaine’s ‘think before you speak’ advice a little too seriously, and thus hasn’t really said much all night. Kurt was just thankful he didn’t growl at anyone at the door for entering his territory.

Dessert almost finished (a wonderful lemon-meringue pie that Carole baked), Kurt leaned into Blaine’s side to whisper in his ear. “Let’s give Burt and Carole some time together after this?” He knew Blaine was just glad to be excused from Burt’s presence, for he nodded a little too enthusiastically.

He waited for Blaine to whisper to Finn before he stood up, collecting empty plates to dispose in the sink. “Well, us kids are gunna go hang out down in my room, for a bit.”

Burt’s eyes immediately went to Blaine, who tried to hide behind Kurt’s frame. “Finn’s going with you?” His father demanded rather than asked.

Kurt’s eyebrows went high on his head, deadpanning, “He _would_ be considered a kid, wouldn’t he?” Burt’s lips tightened indignantly.

“Only for a little bit, though,” Carole chirped in. “I have overnight at the hospital tonight, so Finn and I’ll have to be heading home soon. Finn, what do you say to Kurt?”

Eyes going wide, Finn choked, “What?” Carole’s eyebrow raised high, prompting him. “Oh, right. Uh,” he turned awkwardly toward Kurt. “Your lasagna was really good. I- uh, I didn’t know you could- I mean- it was-” face going red, Finn swallowed thickly. “It was delicious.”

“Thanks…” Kurt said, a little slowly. Finn’s attempt at talking to Kurt was both endearing and embarrassing. Did he have to be so careful? Kurt led the three of them down his stairs, thinking it over, before a familiar, ugly feeling made him stop.

Unaware Kurt had stopped, Blaine bumped into him gently, and then Finn into Blaine, who nearly knocked them all down the steps. “Wh- Kurt?” Blaine called out, steadying himself on the wall.

For a wild second, Kurt became obsessed with the idea of chasing Finn back upstairs. His usually mild scent had somehow turned threatening within the span of a few seconds upon entering Kurt’s room. He could already feel it seeping into the most secure places of sanctuary; his bed, his mom’s old vanity, the small collection of stuffed animals from his childhood he kept hidden under his bed. Finn was polluting it, stripping Kurt of his safety and home.

“Um, Kurt?” Blaine called softly, bringing Kurt back into reality. “Are you okay?”

Trying to play it off, Kurt continued walking. “Of course,” he said, but his voice still sounded as if it was growling. _Had he been growling?_

But he definitely wasn’t okay. Crossing his arms around his chest, Kurt tried to ignore the way the new scent was now dominating his bedroom. Panicking, Kurt realized that he couldn’t even focus on Blaine’s scent to keep him sturdy.

_What were you thinking?_ Kurt was suddenly scolding himself. _You’re bringing this Neanderthal into your only safe spot. This is where you sleep, this is where you cry, this is where you are most vulnerable. This is your_ space _, and you’re letting this lunkhead bully see all of your secrets, your insecurities._

“Hey,” that was Blaine’s voice, still soft in his ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Kurt said immediately, turning away. He tried to focus on something, pretend to be interested in something, but all he had to look at what his nightstand, and it gave him no advice.

And then Blaine’s voice became stern, though it was still whispering. “Kurt, please tell me what’s wrong.”

Lowering his voice, Kurt hissed into Blaine’s ear, “It’s a territory thing.”

Blaine took a moment to process this, and then he asked, a little louder. “And how do we fix that?”

Kurt snapped his eyes to Blaine incredulously, then over to where Finn stood, still at the edge of the stairs. He looked like he was trying to pretend to not notice that Kurt and Blaine were discussing him, wringing his hands and looking determinedly toward the floor.

“Kurt, you know Finn’s not going to judge you-”

“ _Oh yes he will_ ,” Kurt snapped, his short temper getting the best of him. “Just because he doesn’t say anything doesn’t mean he’s not thinking it. He can’t even thank me for making him food properly because he doesn’t want to offend me!”

“Tabatha.”

Kurt’s teeth clanked together as he rushed to shut himself up. He could already feel his face flooding with color, his ears pressed flat against his hair. Blaine could see that his Cat had taken over his temper; now that it was brought to his attention, Kurt could feel it, too. It was in the way that he was so sensitive to every breath of air around him, how he could hear Burt and Carole’s conversation upstairs a little too well. Meekly, he lifted his eyes to find Blaine looking a little subdued as well, unsure about how Kurt would take to being called out.

As an apology, Kurt kept quiet to let Blaine continue speaking. “We can work on finding a solution. You want to trust Finn, don’t you?” _No_ , Kurt’s Cat screamed in response, but Kurt bit it down. Kurt wanted friends, and Finn was trying. He knew he was acting irrationally; he knew Finn wasn’t going to intentionally dictate or take away his space. “What do you think will help?” Blaine asked timidly. Despite his encouragement, it was clear that he was aware of how incredibly out of his element he felt.

Kurt’s face went bright red, because there was only one thing he could think of that would help. Before he could think up of a way to say it without sounding so crude, though, Finn finally spoke. “Literally, dude, anything you need me to do.” He nearly jumped when Kurt looked back up to him, but he continued on all the same, “I know I’m, like, really bad at this, but I really do like you, and I really do want to help. I don’t want to be a jerk, like, ever, so I’m just scared of saying stuff I don’t know is mean on accident.”

“You should tell him what the problem is,” Blaine whispered helpfully in his ear.

Heeding Blaine’s advice, Kurt addressed Finn, trying to keep his tail from swishing so much behind him. “I know. I just… don’t like how you have to be so careful, I guess. And you’re still- I know I promised you I was starting you off on a new leaf, but you’re still the jock who sat back and watched me get beaten up for all of those years. I guess I feel…” he swallowed roughly, forcing himself to continue, “threatened. You- Your scent is taking over all of my stuff.”

The room was quiet for a long moment, the tension strengthening until Kurt felt like he was strung tightly in midair, and then Finn said, “I showered this morning.”

The laughter ripped out of Kurt from the absurdity. He had to bring his hand to his mouth to stifle it; beside him, Blaine was doing the same. Finn still looked serious, though, so Kurt eased his worries. “It’s not quite like that. It’s not body odor.”

“Oh,” Finn said, though he was clearly still confused. Kurt laughed again, but it was uneasy and nervous.

Oddly, the outburst made him feel a little more Human. Finn was trying, and although he was absolutely clueless and tacky, Kurt _did_ like him. Besides, he had Carole for a mother; he couldn’t be _that_ bad. Making up his mind, Kurt vowed to himself, eyes fluttering closed as the familiar ball of anxiety fizzled in his stomach.

“Finn?” he called, and Finn went alert at his name. “Stay still.”

The instructions only confused the poor boy more, especially when Kurt walked over toward him. Kurt could see the uneasiness, the panic in his eyes- he could smell it- when he was finally standing directly in front of him. Kurt knew that Finn’s panic was more toward himself, and what he might accidentally do or say, but it still made him ache. Finally, Kurt reached out and wrapped his arms around Finn’s middle.

Although Finn had been ordered to not move, his arms instinctually fell around Kurt’s shoulders. Something about that instinct helped Kurt melt against the embrace. Finn was incredibly tall; his arms could practically wrap all the way around him and meet up again at Kurt’s front. It almost felt like he could swim in Finn’s scent, now, encumbered though still strange. Letting out a shaky breath, Kurt took a moment to prepare himself for what he really needed to do.

Thankful that he could at least reach Finn’s neck, Kurt butted his head softly into the collarbone in front of him. It may have taken Finn a minute to realize what he was doing, but once Kurt’s jaw nuzzled into the bottom of his throat he had flinched, laughter bubbling out of him.

“That tickles!” He commented, trying to shy away. But it had taken everything in him for Kurt to start doing this, and there was no way he was stopping now: he followed, securely holding Finn in place so he could continue masking his scent.

Kurt allowed himself to really let go. He butted his head where it needed to butt, nuzzled his face where it needed to nuzzle, rubbed his ears, his jaw- he let himself exude scent more than he ever needed to before (thankful that no one else in the room could smell it).

Finally, after a minute or so of Finn squirming, Kurt had successfully overpowered the threatening scent into submission. Admiring his work, Kurt sniffed- catching a whiff of something curious in the air now coming from behind them. Regaining self consciousness, Kurt pulled back sheepishly until Finn let him go. Kurt knew his face had flushed. Awkwardly, Kurt coughed. “Thanks for letting me do that, Finn.”

“No problem!” Finn said earnestly with a signature crooked smile. “That was actually kind of… um. Nice, I think. A little homoerotic for me, but like, not- not that there’s anything inherently wrong with that.”

The specific scent in the air coming from Blaine had strengthened, and Kurt couldn’t quite understand it. He could feel Blaine’s protectiveness in the air, which made no sense considering it was his idea. “You better not be less intimidated by me now,” he said, addressing Finn sternly.

“Ah, no, you’re still pretty scary,” Finn chuckled nervously, his hands clenching and unclenching by his side. “I mean- well, you know…”

_He’s cute_ , Kurt had found himself thinking. And he seemed rather harmless. Kurt allowed himself to look over to where Blaine had perched himself on the bed. The bright, fake smile plastered on his lips would have fooled anyone except Kurt. The smile widened for him. “Not so bad, right?” Blaine asked.

Was it protectiveness? Or jealousy?

With the attention span of a fly, Finn motioned excitedly to the corner of the room. “Aw, dude, you have Crash Bandicoot! I haven’t played that since I was like, ten and my mom accidentally gave it away. Ooh, the racing one!”

“You might as well play it; let it get some actual use,” Kurt waved him off, allowing him to figure out how to set up the console. The PlayStation was bought within the first year of Kurt’s life in the house. It was a failed attempt of Burt and Elizabeth trying to figure out a way to occupy him so he would break the ugly habit of sitting idly and blocking out the world 90% of the time, one rather unsettling side effect of his upbringing. To this day Kurt didn’t understand the appeal, so it sat collecting dust.

Blaine sat up forward, a little too quickly. “I call the Polar Bear!”

And Blaine had scooted a little too closely to Kurt on the bed for optimal videogame strategy. It was jealousy. Blaine did not seem like the type of person to become jealous so easily. Perhaps he was envious at how quickly Kurt opened up to Finn, that Finn didn’t have to suffer through weeks of being avoided and ignored. He watched the characters on the screen drive and battle, trying to keep himself from rolling his eyes at how secretly hard Blaine was trying to surpass Finn, a cute little scowl between his brows.

But if it wasn’t for Blaine, Kurt would not have allowed anyone into his life so soon, and Blaine _had_ to have known that. And if Kurt didn’t know that Blaine thought Finn was a good guy, then Kurt wouldn’t have been open to trusting him. Kurt was familiar with jealousy, as it was a state of being he often found himself in; jealous of the normalcy of everyone else, of not being able to wear clothes without altering them, of not being terrified to step out into public, of not having to protect themselves from every stranger they happen by. He knew how silly jealously sometimes was, and it seemed Blaine did too, as he hid it quite well.

Experimentally, Kurt squeezed Blaine’s knee. He jumped a mile high, Kurt popping the bubble of reality. “Jumpy?” Kurt teased.

“J-Just nervous,” Blaine admitted, a pink tint to his cheeks as he turned back to where his character had driven off of the road. “About your dad.”

“Oh, yeah, what was up with that?” Finn asked offhandishly.

Blaine had gone sheepish, somehow managing to look smaller than he already was, so Kurt spoke for him. “He’s just being difficult. It’s really just an act- he seriously contemplated dropping it as soon as you brought the garlic knots into the house.”

But Blaine looked unconvinced, still shrinking in on himself.

Luckily for Blaine, Finn changed the topic. “So, like, when we get to New York next weekend for Nationals, do you know if Schuester is going to let us go sightseeing? But like, without the group. I kind of have some, ah. Things. That I need to do.”

“You’re planning on serenading Rachel in the city of her dreams so she’ll date you again,” Kurt called him out bluntly. “A horrible idea. But considering the elaborate, expensive rouses Mr. Schuester lets you guys do on a weekly basis, I hardly doubt he’d be anything less than sickeningly supportive. As long as you don’t throw a coup over his Journey medley.”

“Wait- you think it’s a horrible idea?”

“Dating Rachel, not the serenading a girl in her favorite city thing,” Kurt clarified.

“Oh…” Finn trailed off, face pinched as he thought hard.

Next to him, Blaine paused the game and turned to Kurt. “You’re coming with us, right?”

Taken aback, Kurt blinked twice. “To New York? Why would I go with you?”

“You _are_ a part of the Glee Club, you know,” Blaine reminded. He turned more fully on the bed. “I know you’re not performing with us, but you do get to come with us to competitions. Mr. Schue gave you a permission form on purpose.”

Scrunching his nose, Kurt shook his head. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m gunna go.”

“Dude, why not?” Finn asked, as if appalled. “The entire trip is basically free. We worked our asses off selling those taffies.”

Taking a different approach, Blaine noted, “Well, don’t you want to go and check out colleges or something? Kurt, New York is the fashion capital of the country.”

“Yeah, and it’s also the most populated city in the entire Western Hemisphere,” Kurt reminded bitterly. “And what college in their right mind is going to accept me? What would I even go for?”

It wasn’t supposed to be pathetic when he said it, but Blaine had adorned the most sickeningly pitiful expression after it. Rolling his eyes, Kurt dropped his shoulders in annoyance. “So you just… aren’t planning on anything after high school?”

“This isn’t the time to talk about this,” Kurt brushed off, frustrated.

“Kurt, you’re going to be a senior next year-”

“Did you hear me?” Kurt snapped. “End of discussion!”

Sighing, Blaine held his tongue, but he made a right show of letting Kurt know the discussion was going to be picked up again soon in the way he pursed his lips. Passive aggressively, Blaine unpaused the game so that he and Finn could resume playing. After a moment, he spoke again, softly, “Please at least think about coming to New York with us. I know how much you secretly love the aesthetics of the city. We can spend the whole time looking out the window of our hotel, if you want.”

Before Kurt could reply with anything other than a thoughtful scowl, the footsteps above him led to his room. Carole called to her son, and the three teenagers slumped up the stairs to say goodbye.

As she was leaving, Carole gave Kurt a bone-crushing hug, which surprised Kurt into a state of confusion. It felt nice, or it should have, he realized, but it was too caring, too _motherly_ to not unsettle him. It was too painstakingly familiar. She gave one to Blaine, too, who was surprised in a completely different way; perhaps the opposite side of Kurt’s coin. Kurt hadn’t been used to motherly hugs for so long by fate, whereas Blaine… well, Kurt wondered how often his mother hugged him like that.

Finn looked awkward about how to go about saying goodbye to Kurt and Kurt was tempted to let him suffer to figure it out, but he took pity on the poor guy and initiated a handshake. Almost as soon as the Hudsons were out the door, Kurt felt Blaine go clammy. “Well, I uh. I better get going-” he started to say, but Burt cut him off.

“Nope. You. On the couch,” Burt demanded sternly, clapping Blaine hard on the shoulder. The color drained from Blaine’s face. “And you,” Burt continued, pointing at Kurt, “downstairs, and no listening in. Put your headphones on if you have to.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, but not before noticing the panicked look Blaine gave him. Feeling bad, Kurt bluntly stated, “He legitimately wears a bathrobe with cartoon ducks on it.” Blaine looked like he wanted to laugh, but even that stuttered.

“Elizabeth got me that robe,” Burt defended himself lightly.

“It still has ducks on it.”

“Don’t discredit my scariness.”

“Remember that time you admitted to loving The Powerpuff Girls?”

“Go downstairs, Kurt,” Burt told him, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. Kurt smiled back wryly at him before turning to Blaine to send him a much sturdier one. As he walked past, he made sure to catch Blaine’s hand and squeeze it once for encouragement; Blaine’s eyes went wide with surprise at the gesture. Kurt had a brief moment of anxiety where he worried if grabbing his hand was too much for friends, but it wasn’t as if he and Blaine never touched hands. They held hands back at the hospital, and Blaine would occasionally even do the same gesture to Kurt. He thought about the look and the jealousy as he made his way downstairs. It didn’t make sense.

He really did try to not listen in on the conversation upstairs, but it was difficult to do when you have a hyperactive sense of hearing. Especially when the conversation you wanted to eavesdrop in on was so enticing. He could put on headphones and listen to music, but human headphones were a pain. Ear buds tickled his ears, whereas the full size headphones he has to bend and shape to the top of his head never fit right and always fell off. He lied on his bed for some time with one ear pressed against a headphone while his hand covered his other until he successfully drowned out the conversation.

In the length of time, Kurt had fallen asleep. He startled awake to his father’s voice calling him. “Kurt? You wanna come say goodnight to the kid before he leaves?”

Groggily wiping his eyes, Kurt checked the time; the conversation had lasted twenty minutes.

“Took you long enough,” he murmured to the both of them when he got upstairs, to which Blaine ducked his head as if it was his fault. He led Blaine to the door, hoping to get a moment of privacy which was all for naught, as Burt stood back firmly and refused to leave.

Clearly unnerved by the extra presence, Blaine swallowed hard and waved shyly back. “I’ll see you on Monday,” he bid as Kurt opened the door to let him out.

As soon as Blaine was gone, Kurt expressed his disapproval in a glare at his father. Unaffected, Burt raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Something wrong?”

“You didn’t have to be so creepy,” Kurt rolled his eyes as he walked past, attempting to retire down in his room for the rest of the night.

Before he could make it, Burt stopped him. “Ah- No. On the couch,” he ordered, and Kurt rolled his eyes again before changing his trajectory and flopping down in his seat with a _humph_. He should have predicted Burt would have a list of things to say to him too. Burt took a moment to settle into his chair before looking up at Kurt with a near grave expression. Concerned, Kurt frowned, until Burt finally spoke. “So you don’t want to go to New York?”

Jaw dropping, Kurt screeched, “ _What_!?”

“Blaine said that you didn’t want to go to New York with the Glee-”

“Okay, what are the both of you even _on_?” Kurt screamed, already done with the conversation. “Why is it such a big deal to the two of you? Why would I want to go to New York? When have I _ever_ expressed interest in the city?!”

Infuriatingly to Kurt, Burt’s smile was amused. “Every single time you make me watch When Harry Met Sally, or Breakfast at Tiffany’s, or Rent, or pretty much every other movie you claim is your favorite.”

Unable to defend himself, Kurt’s mouth snapped shut for a moment so he could formulate his argument. “Those are just movies! Why would I have any interest in going to the _real_ New York City, the largest city in the country? Okay, it’s really not a big deal!”

“It is a big deal, Kurt-”

“What are you talking about?!” Kurt snapped. “This is ridiculous-”

He made to storm out, but Burt shoved his arm out to block Kurt’s passage. Enraged, Kurt crossed his arms tightly over his chest, tail tapping. “Sit back down, Kurt.”

“I’m done having this conversation. Why did I even trust Blaine-?”

“Because he’s worried about you, and obviously for a good reason,” Burt snapped back at him, his voice raising. “If it wasn’t as big of a deal as you say it is, you wouldn’t be reacting like this.”

“I’m reacting like this because-”

“You’re reacting like this because you’re scared, and don’t even try to tell me that I’m wrong,” Burt said firmly, and Kurt was in no place to argue with his tone. “And for a very good reason. You, more than anyone else, have all of the reasons in the world to be scared.”

Setting his jaw, Kurt swallowed thickly. “If you understand that so much, then why are you trying to force me-”

“If you calmed down for a second, you’d realize that I’m not trying to force you to do anything. I barely had time to say three words before you exploded,” Burt pointed out, and Kurt’s tail stilled for a moment. “If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s when to pick my battles. You’re the most stubborn brat there is, and always have been,” he chuckled good-naturedly. “But I would really like to at least have this conversation with you.”

Kurt sighed deeply for a moment, collecting himself. Had he unknowingly slipped into his Cat? Regardless, Kurt spoke with a calm force. “I’m don’t want to go to New York.”

“And why do you think you don’t want to go to New York?”

“What do you mean, ‘think’?” Kurt asked, immediately on the defense.

“Kurt,” Burt searched him.

 “Why do _you_ ‘think’ I don’t want to go to New York?”

“I _think_ that that’s enough attitude from you tonight, and you should watch your tone as you answer my question with your next sentence,” Burt scolded, authoritative.

Before he could catch himself, an indignant growl rumbled out of his chest. He might feel bad about his quips later, but in the current moment he felt proud of them. He knew that his father didn’t deserve a disobedient child, but he had been worked up. “There’s already too many people in _Lima, Ohio_ who gawk at me daily! I don’t need to add New York’s hostility into it!”

“I-”

“You don’t understand what it’s like, being gaped at wherever you go!” Kurt continued. “And you want me to go to _New York_ -?!”

“Kurt Elizabeth, I already told you once about your tone, lower your voice!” Burt scolded angrily.

“You’re not listening to me-!”

“I’m hearing more than what you think you’re saying!” Burt interrupted, sounding more enraged than Kurt has heard him in a long time. “I’ve heard your words _years_ ago coming out of my own mouth!” Kurt pulled back his retort quickly, a surprised little yelp catching in this throat. “Don’t even think that you’re giving a single argument that I haven’t spoken for years to your mother about. Don’t you know _where_ your anxiety comes from?”

Burt breathed heavily for a moment, staring Kurt down. “It’s my fault that you think like this. It’s my fault you’re scared of the public. From _Day One_ I’ve been trying to hide you- from the public, from the media, from all of those damn judgmental eyes. I see them too, and I see how they affect you more than you know. They affect _me_ more than you know. All I want to do is protect you, and that was the only way I could think of to do it.

“Your mother wanted to take you out. This is exactly what she was trying to prevent, and it’s taken me this long to realize it. She wanted to take you around the world, so you can see people and places and experience being in it without shame. She wanted you to learn how to protect yourself from the judgment while being in its eye, learn how to find people who accept you, and I-… I didn’t let her. I thought that we should- we should keep you secluded- you were so young, you didn’t deserve to have the entire world’s scorn on your shoulders.

“And now- and now look at you. You can’t even enjoy the _idea_ of going to one of your favorite cities in the world. You don’t let yourself see a future, see employment, see furthering your education. You don’t let yourself think that you can have whatever you want, but you _can_ , Kurt. You have such incredible _drive_ , but you never let yourself use it because you’re afraid of what everyone will think.”

Deprived of words, Kurt attempted to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat as soon as his father’s voice started breaking. Even though it didn’t leave, Kurt made himself speak, “That’s not- that’s not your fault-”

“Yes it is,” Burt stated bluntly. “I wanted to homeschool you. Imagine if Elizabeth had let me win that argument…” Kurt didn’t want to imagine it. He tried to shunt it from his mind, but Burt continued his trail. “You would be even more terrified than you already are…”

“I would have never been sexually assaulted by a kid who tormented me for years,” Kurt spat before he could control it.

“Kurt!” Burt scolded loudly for his brashness.

“Maybe I should have been homeschooled…” Kurt found himself replying solemnly.

“This is exactly what I _don’t_ want you thinking!” Burt said urgently. “Look at how scared you are, Kurt. Do you know how much it hurts me? In your video when you said that you had given up on a decent future- on love. I spent days looking for another therapist who would risk their job to take you on without the government finding out for that! I haven’t found _anyone_ , so I need you to work with me!” At last, Burt leaned forward on the couch, placing a fatherly hand on Kurt’s knee. “You can have anything you want, Kurt. We can make it happen for you. Whatever career you want, whoever you want to love, you can let yourself have it.”

If it were only that easy. Kurt’s hand clenched into itself tightly, his fingernails biting into his skin. There was too much to sort through in his mind. “New York is too much right now.”

Holding his breath for a moment, Burt berated him. “I agree,” he grumbled eventually. “But I like the idea of you stepping out into the world a bit more. You never leave this house except for the shelter and the Crafts store.”

And he hadn’t been to either at all, lately.

“And we need to start talking about college and what profession you’d like to look into.” An unpleasant emotion swirled around in Kurt’s stomach at the idea. “I realize that it’s your choice whether you want to go to college or not, but getting a degree is getting more and more important in today’s society. If something were to happen to my shop I would be completely out of luck working my ass off for a decent job because I never went, and I don’t want you to have the same problem.”

Clenching his jaw, Kurt tapped his finger against his leg repetitively. It was difficult to look at his father in the eye. Everything just felt like too much, the prospect of becoming an adult in this world without the security and protection of his father he’s always had… he didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about how he was supposed to make money, land a job, get a degree, when the entire world held judgment over him. Especially now that he had newly been brought back into the spotlight. Bullies and anonymous online bigots were one thing, but getting scorn from an employer or the dean of a college…

Something in his face must have given him away, because Burt’s hand clapped him on the knee again. Kurt jumped, eyes finally snapping upwards. He wished he hadn’t done so, because the pity in his father’s eyes was unbearable. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’ll always be here.”

Kurt desperately tried not to think of Elizabeth in that moment.

“Will you think about it?” Burt asked.

He didn’t want to. Mainly he wanted to get his father to stop looking at him like that.

“Yeah,” he lied.

_o-O-o_


	13. Chapter 13

_o-O-o_

It was difficult to pretend like anything but the present existed when both Blaine and his father were so obsessed with it the following week. It was tiresome to bump between their tactics, trying to decipher which he hated more. Burt had the decency to not bring it up every two seconds, but Blaine at least saved sending the pitying glances until when he thought Kurt wasn’t looking.

By Tuesday Kurt was ready to snap. It didn’t help that the entire glee club was practically vibrating with New York, talking about it in every other sentence (in between arguments about solos). The most frustrating aspect about that was that the more he listened to them, the less he could deny how jealous he was.

Truth be told, he really, really wished he was going with them. Never before had he yearned he could detach his ears so badly, that he could unclip his tail, if only for a mere weekend. If there was a way he could hide himself, a hat big enough, pants bulky enough… But he knew it was fruitless. If he went, he would hate it the entire time he was there. His anxiety would prevent him from relaxing, keep him constantly waiting for the next person who would push him, pull his tail, throw words at him…

“What about LA?” Blaine asked him on Wednesday out of the blue when they had a bit of downtime in Calculus.

“What _about_ LA?” Kurt asked back, sounding rather short.

“Well, you keep saying that New York is too big of a city,” he said nervously twirling his pencil in his hand. “So I was thinking… LA. You know, just to visit or something. I mean, my brother’s out there…”

“Are you using your semi-famous brother as a bargaining chip to try to get me to visit a city?” Kurt questioned, who was, despite himself, rather amused.

Blaine’s lips pursed, looking ashamed and quite a bit disdainful. “Well, it was actually more of because of your, um. _Fascination_ with him…”

Smirking, Kurt leaned over their desks. “Must be something about those Anderson boys, I guess.”

Blaine blushed.

“You must really want me to get comfortable being in public, huh?” Kurt asked softly.

“Of course I do,” Blaine assured him. “I hate that there’s so much you think you can’t do because of other people. And you can try to tell me whatever you want, but I know you _do_ want to visit New York.” Kurt sighed, giving a weak shrug. “And, honestly,” Blaine said, his tone getting lighter, “I fear of the downturns the fashion industry would take if you didn’t have the courage to step up and make yourself a name in it.”

Rolling his eyes, Kurt gave Blaine a look. “Your charm has no more effect on me by now.”

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard.” Their banter was interrupted by class ending and their teacher giving out hurried last minute notes as students were already halfway down the hall. When they got to Kurt’s locker, Blaine fell back against the wall. “What about Vouge.com?”

“That’s the second time you’ve done that in ten minutes, Blaine.”

He continued as if Kurt had responded politely. “I’ve been researching, and if you work for an online branch, you don’t even have to use your real name in articles or pieces you work on. You can use a pseudonym.”

Kurt froze as Blaine said it. A _pseudonym_. Blaine had spent his spare time looking for ways for Kurt to pursue a profession without the public eye glaring at him. He could design and create clothes, write articles and criticism without anyone ever knowing about the extra appendage growing out of his spine… “But my employer would still know my real name,” Kurt pointed out bluntly, shrugging his bag over his shoulder.

Blaine pursed his lips, his expression caught somewhere between determination and pouting. He mumbled non-distinguishably, but Kurt was able to make out the phrase “so difficult”, and got the general gist. He would have maybe shown Blaine a bit of cold shoulder for it, had not Blaine recuperated brightly, “Want to come see a movie with me on Thursday? They’re doing a special showing of Sound of Music.”

“At the mall? I don’t want to go anywhere too crowded.”

“Do you really think the theater is going to be _that_ packed?” Blaine teased, giving Kurt a look. His honey eyes sparkled enough to get Kurt’s rolling.

But it got through to him enough. He pointed his finger in warning, “You pay for both the popcorn and the tickets. I drive you to school every morning.”

“I would be glad to,” Blaine said, smiling at Kurt with such an air of tenderness he couldn’t help ducking his head bashfully.

_o-O-o_

Kurt didn’t see anything unusual with their plans until he was in the shower an hour before he was leaving on Thursday evening. Typically, Kurt was a genius at picking out the perfect outfit for carrying out whatever plans he had. The outfit he had worn that day to school obviously wouldn’t do for a Julie Andrews classic; he had known all day he would be changing after his nap to go out. He had contemplated an idea that morning, but nothing really came to mind- not that it mattered at the time, he had all day to daydream something right…

But the entire school day went by and nothing seemed right. No biggie, he could always spend some time before his nap rifling through his closet, because there had to be something…

_Nothing_. He fell asleep angry, wondering how he was getting a fashion-block now, in all of his years owning a wardrobe full of clothes and a head full of ideas. He woke up feeling antsy. As he was washing out his bed head, he tried to wrack his brain, figuring that maybe if he could discover what was wrong, he could possibly rectify his creative block. Perhaps he was in need of some new garments; he had previously used up all of his fabric a while back. But still, even trying to come up with something completely new was like trying to pull a nail out of the wall from the pointy end. Frustration started to well up inside of him. How could he possibly not have an idea about what to wear to a-?

_Date_.

He stood in the shower with a head full of half-rinsed shampoo.

_You’re going on a date._

_What? No._ Kurt denied himself, still unaware of the shampoo that had been drying out his hair. _No. Not a date. A date is when two people…_

Two people going out to get to know each other better. That’s not what he and Blaine were doing. Well- was it? Blaine had made no indication that it was a date; all he had done was- he- well, he _always_ smiled tenderly. Those were the only smiles Blaine ever gave. Enthusiastic and tender. Normal Blaine behavior. Totally not in ‘I want to go on a date with you’ kind of ways. Or- _well_.

No. This wasn’t a date. Because- and Kurt started verbally laughing out loud as he thought it- because if it was, Blaine would have been much less eloquent, wouldn’t he? If this was considered a date, then every time they had coffee together before school would have to count as dates too. And anyway, _why_ would Blaine be asking him on a date? It’s not like Blaine found Kurt attractive or…

Even as he thought it, though, the anxiety bubbling low in his belly expanded. Doing his best to block out his negative thoughts, Kurt forced himself to stop thinking about it. Finally realizing he had been standing frozen with product sucking the moisture out of his hair, Kurt rinsed off and began to quickly apply his conditioner. It wasn’t a date, so he would wear whatever he normally wore when he goes to see Blaine. There was nothing different just because they were going out into public with each other at night, going to a place where people typically go when they’re on dates.

But as he pulled out a casual outfit once he was back in his room, it still didn’t seem right.

Well, it wasn’t up to par to honor Ms. Andrews, that’s all. Something a bit nicer? But they were going to the Lima Mall, so nothing too upper class. And it has to be something that’ll be fine with Blaine’s usual colors- but that’s totally not a date thing, that’s just a common courtesy.

He walked up to Blaine’s door ten minutes late, pulling on the sleeves of his chosen shirt and feeling like everything was completely, horrendously wrong. Before Kurt could run back into his car, the door opened, making Kurt jump as he hadn’t even rung the doorbell. “Hey!” Blaine called, maybe a little quickly. He stepped out on the porch. “Sorry, my mom was… doing a thing, and I didn’t want to disturb her.”

“Oh. Yeah. Hi,” Kurt choked nervously, eyeing the outfit Blaine had put together. He let out a breath, though it was uneasy, when he noticed that he and Blaine were at least on par with their fashion choices. There was a good, equal mixture of formal and casual, and they were both wearing dark, muted tones. And thank _god_ they didn’t clash.

“Hi,” Blaine said again, like it was a comforting breath. “You look good.”

The compliment went right into the heat of Kurt’s cheeks. Trying to play it off, Kurt threw his hand in the air and waved it noncommittally. “Don’t I always?” he joked with a sense of self confidence he definitely did not feel.

“Always,” Blaine agreed with a soft smile. Kurt bit his lip. “Shall we go? We need to get there early to get good seats.” Kurt rolled his eyes, catching the sarcasm.

The car ride went easily, the two picking up into a commentary about glee, about the recent Finn, Rachel, and Quinn gossip that the love triangle always brought. Just as Kurt started to feel his nerves relax, he noticed that the scent of anxiety in the air he thought was coming from himself, well, _wasn’t_. Blaine was nervous, too, sounding much more like the old Blaine who stumbled at least once a sentence.

Did Blaine notice it too, then? The similarities between their plans for the evening and what normal people considered a date? Did Blaine spend forever completely freaking out over what he was going to wear, unsure about the intentions of the night out? Kurt carded his fingers through the long hairs on his tail nervously, trying to keep it from flicking left and right about the car. They pulled into the parking garage in silence, Kurt in denial about if it was awkward or not.

There was quite a lot of people in the lobby and the snack line for six o’clock on a Thursday evening; too many for Kurt to blatantly ignore when one, five, twenty pairs of eyes caught in his direction and were too freaked out to look away. His ears flattened into his hair instinctually.

Tension broke when Blaine finally inched their dangling hands together, and Kurt had to conclude that their knuckles had been brushing, and that he could no longer ignore the fact. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but when Blaine squeezed Kurt felt the sense of familiarity comforting, especially when it was _totally_ just a squeeze of silent support to help Kurt stay rooted underneath all of these strangers’ judgment. And when Blaine jumped in return when Kurt’s tail hooked around his knee, well, that was for support, too.

Expertly, Blaine leaned over and curbed a distraction. “You know, when I was eleven I played the Captain in an all-kids community theater production.”

Kurt’s jaw dropped for a second, before snapping shut. “Sorry, I just have to really work my imagination to picture you yelling at other kids for having fun.”

And just like that, they fell back into their old banter. Every time a new eye glared at him, Blaine would have another anecdote to keep his attention on him. It was too easy, too simple of a connection to worry his ‘date-or-not-a-date’ anxieties; they were just _them_ at the moment, and maybe later he could dissect things, but in the moment, it wasn’t important.

The theater was indeed relaxingly empty. There were only around three or four older couples up in the front, and two separate families with smaller children occupying the center of the seats. He and Blaine sat in the very last row where they could keep an entire commentary running throughout the film without bothering anyone else. Kurt was highly entertained picturing a pre-pubescent Blaine, slick-haired, wide-eyed, and too-big-bowtied, portraying such a harsh father on the small stage.

At least, he was enjoying it until the Captain and Maria kissed. Logically he knew that Blaine, being in an all-kids production in Ohio, probably wouldn’t have had to share a stage kiss, but Kurt still couldn’t help the heat flaring in his belly when Christopher Plummer and Julie Andrews joined lips.

They had gotten through their medium-sized popcorn together without shame or regret, probably laughing together a bit too loudly at inappropriate times because of a quip that was made or a failed attempt at catching a kernel in their mouths midair. It was comfortable. And the pleasant, fluffy warmness in Kurt’s chest made him feel giddy.

When the theater emptied out, everyone rejoicing at the Von Trapps once again successful escape over the Alps, Kurt and Blaine were for some reason engaged in a ridiculous giggle-fit, neither of them precisely recalling what exactly prompted it. Perhaps it was all the processed butter getting to their heads, or the fact that everything was much funnier when you had to be quiet and one of you was on the verge of an over-filled bladder (Kurt had unwisely denied the need during intermission), or maybe they had just gone crazy stuck in a movie theater for three hours.

“I have to pee so bad,” Kurt squirmed for the millionth time, tears in his eyes from the laughter.

“Then _go_ , you dummy!” Blaine said, his hand pressed into the small of Kurt’s back, which only made Kurt’s giggles more airy.

“ _Okay_ ,” Kurt insisted, slipping away, but not before leaning into Blaine’s ear to whisper, “but if you feel the overwhelming need to seduce a younger woman by song while I’m gone, make sure you make it as misogynistic and disrespectful as you can.” Blaine immediately fell into silent laughter, the sexist excuse for a love song the constant butt of their jokes all evening. “And if she doesn’t ‘wee’ at the end, she’s undeserving.”

Kurt locked himself in a stall, still regaining his breath, and still at a loss as to how long ago it was taken away from him.

His face was flushed completely pink when he saw himself in the mirror as he was washing his hands. The bathroom was empty- a rare occurrence in a movie theater, Kurt knew- so he allowed himself to sit back a moment to study his reflection. His hair was a mess, but stylishly so; it was new and kind of dangerous-looking, adding to the wide grin still stretching his normally composed lips. Kurt’s whole demeanor was different. He had never seen himself look so-

Happy.

_Maybe_ , Kurt found himself thinking, the fluff in his chest now sparking and popping, _maybe, if this was a date, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad._ He waited for a moment for his Cat to speak up; he gave it room to deny, to fear, but nothing came from it. It was purring happily, contently, deep inside of his chest. He didn’t think he was making it up. Blaine had laughed easily with him, touched him often, and seemed to spend more time looking at Kurt than up at the movie screen. Whatever was happening, was it really all that bad?

Swallowing thickly, Kurt composed himself in the mirror until most of the flush in his cheeks drained, his ears standing tall and alert in his disheveled coif. The more he watched himself in the mirror, the more he laughed at his earlier worriment; his outfit choice was outstandingly perfect. Tail swishing behind him, Kurt swayed out of the bathroom. He had so much to focus on in that empty bathroom that it was hard to pick something, and rather dizzying the more he buzzed around the topic. He needed to find Blaine and just… be in his company. That was all he wanted.

Upon first spotting Blaine’s face amongst the crowd just outside the movie theater, Kurt felt a jolt course through his veins. At first he assumed it was because- but then, he realized the jolt had taken something from him instead. He felt unnerved, like a ring of an old binder that warped so that it no longer clicked together neatly but rather sat slightly askew.

Blaine was smiling and nodding at another boy.

Kurt’s insides burned, the fluff in his chest igniting like kindling and turning to ash. The absurd image of the Captain and Maria’s kiss flashed before his eyes once. He could hardly feel himself gliding across the hall; all he knew was that Blaine’s face was becoming more in focus, and the way he was smiling was nearly identical to the one Kurt had left him with, with its receiving end trained on someone who was leaning into him way too closely.

Dimly aware that he was cutting whoever the other boy was off, Kurt slipped his arm under Blaine’s elbow until they linked. “Hey, why don’t we go get some dinner together? It’s still early,” he said, vaguely even recognizing the new, sharp voice coming out of his lips.

“Oh- _Kurt_ -” Blaine said in surprise at his sudden entrance, and the hand that was now wrapped around his bicep. “Sorry, this is- um-”

“Sebastian Smythe,” the voice said, and instantaneously Kurt hated it. It was sultry and low, much more masculine than the high, feminine soprano Kurt owned. His eyes flashed over to the unwanted company. He wore a school uniform of navy blue with red piping, and devilish, flawlessly styled hair. He had disgustingly symmetrical features about his face, which would have been attractive had he not had that pompous smirk. The surprise in his eyes turned challenging quickly. Kurt’s heart started beating in his throat.

“Yeah-” Blaine was saying, though it sounded as if it was coming from the other end of a long tunnel. “He noticed me from the portrait in the choir room at Dalton. He was just telling me how he apparently just took over my spot on the Warblers.”

Lips pursing, Kurt glared into those challenging eyes. “Did he?”

Sebastian’s chin angled downwards, meeting Kurt’s intensity. “I was just telling him how much of a shame it is; I just missed meeting him there by weeks.”

It took everything in him to not growl. He could feel it rumbling constantly; it was a wonder how Blaine couldn’t _feel_ it, because he sure was gripping him close enough. “Well, he’s in McKinley now. He’s going with the New Directions- who are going to Nationals tomorrow.”

“Only because he wasn’t there to help our boys through Regionals, I’m sure,” Sebastian purred, finally taking his eyes off of Kurt’s to rake them over Blaine. If Kurt hadn’t been gripping Blaine’s bicep so hard, he was fairly certain he’d be scratching those sleazy eyes out of their sockets. “You sure did abandon them.”

Before he could continue talking, Kurt turned to Blaine. “I’m hungry,” he lied. “We should go.”

“Oh, yeah, okay,” Blaine choked, looking confused. The echo of his smile still pulled at his lips.

To Kurt’s annoyance, Sebastian started talking again. “But hey, before you go,” he said, pulling out a pen and a slip of paper from his pocket to write on. “Why don’t you call me sometime, hmm? We should keep in contact, so that you could teach me how to keep those boys in control. Or, you know,” he extended the slip of paper out, his eyes falling down Blaine’s body luxuriously, “other things.”

“Yea-”

Kurt snatched the piece of paper out of Sebastian’s hand before Blaine had the chance to take it. “He’ll get back to you,” Kurt said dangerously, his smile tight and his eyes piercing. The lion within him roared with delight when the muscles of Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

Turning on spot, Kurt walked away, Blaine having no other choice but to be dragged along as Kurt’s arm was coiled around his. Kurt’s tail swished behind him victoriously until it finally wrapped itself back around Blaine’s knee. In his hand, the slip of paper crunched down into a tiny ball until they passed a garbage can, hoping with everything in him that the bastard saw it bounce effortlessly into it.

Stumbling along, Blaine managed to pull himself out of Kurt’s death hold. “Kurt!” he cried indignantly. “That was really rude!” he scolded. Lips tightening into a thin line, Kurt made to grab him again and continue their storm out of the mall. Blaine pulled his arm away before he could catch it. “Kurt!” he called again.

Kurt stared at him. There was no longer any evidence of the giddy smile he wore not ten minutes ago, when they were laughing together over every little thing. Instead he looked angry and confused. The more Kurt watched that expression over Blaine’s face, the more Kurt began to notice just how many people were staring at him.

Eyes burning, Kurt turned to continue his exit alone.

“Kurt!” Blaine beckoned after him. “Kurt, what-?”

Ignoring him, Kurt kept his pace brisk and determined as he left the building and started toward his Navigator. Blaine was still following, his short legs working a little harder to keep up. Kurt shoved his key into the lock with vengeance, until finally Blaine caught up with him.

“Kurt, what is your problem?” Blaine asked him, his expression broken. “I thought we were having a good time. Why are you storming out on me?”

Kurt blinked at him, his expression as vacant as he could make it. Blaine’s face had tinted, and it was hard to tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. There was still a whiff of Sebastian clinging to his clothes; it assaulted Kurt’s nose like a slap in the face. Setting his jaw, Kurt made to swing the driver’s side door open until Blaine smacked his hand to it and closed it on him.

“ _Pause_ ,” Blaine stopped him, not flinching under the glare Kurt sent him. “ _Tell me_ what’s wrong, Kurt.”

“I want to go home,” Kurt said harshly.

“I thought you wanted something to eat?”

Frustrated, Kurt’s ears fell flat on his head, “Why don’t you go back and get your damn phone number.”

“Tabatha.”

The entire night went silent. A row of cars over, a mother hastily shoved her daughter in her car seat, trying to not stare. “This has nothing to do with my cat taking over,” he spewed honestly. He could not feel any of his feline instincts dominating his emotions. Blaine had retreated an inch, bewildered and trying to find words. Kurt was panting, his eyes fighting to hold back wetness. Helpless, Blaine attempted to put a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “Don’t fucking touch me,” Kurt spat, swatting the hand away and backing up. He couldn’t get into his car with Blaine standing in the way.

Blaine removed his hand quickly, as if he had been burned. “Kurt, I’m so confused-”

“There’s a shock.”

“Hey!” Blaine cried, his big, hazel eyes shining. Kurt could hardly stand looking at them. “Kurt, you’re being really, really unfair.”

“Why don’t you go back to Sebastian.”

“Why would I-? Kurt, I don’t even know him-”

Fed up, Kurt screamed, “Are you _that_ fucking oblivious!?” Blaine blinked, taken aback. Kurt stared at him, judging him, reading him. His insides started to boil over.

Trying to bring the conversation back, Blaine shook his head, “Kurt, just tell me-”

“He was _flirting_ with you!” Kurt finally yelled, his throat sore. He hiccupped back into himself, the words feeling like they lashed at his own skin instead of Blaine’s. Blaine was blinking in confusion again, his eyebrows working across his forehead to pinch and pull as Kurt’s words echoed in the air.

“Wh- I-…?” Blaine stuttered. “He-?”

“Oh, _don’t,_ Blaine,” Kurt scoffed. “He was looking at you like you were a… piece of meat. And you just- you just _let him_ \- _encouraged_ him-”

Bemused, Blaine asked, “He wasn’t flirting- _Why_ would he be flirting with me?!”

“Because you’re-” Kurt cut himself off with a gasp. His chest made a funny, un-human-like noise. Bringing his arms across his chest, Kurt swallowed thickly.

Clenching his own jaw, Blaine continued. “And even if- even if he was, it’s not like I was flirting back. And it’s not like- it’s not like it should even matter to you, anyway.”

“ _What_?” The sudden quietness of Kurt’s voice made it seem as if the word had been shrieked. His lungs felt like they were suffocating. They wouldn’t expand to let him take in the air that he needed. Kurt was left speechless. It wouldn’t matter to Kurt that Blaine was giving someone else attention?

“It’s not like you’re ever going to actually like me back like that.” A heavy anchor sunk down into Kurt’s stomach. His eyes wavered its wetness, his breathing ragged. Kurt studied him deeply, his mouth hanging open as he searched. Blaine thought-? He didn’t know-?

Kurt couldn’t comprehend how they got to this point. Wasn’t Blaine the one who knew this whole time? Wasn’t he the one who kept insisting that Kurt just needed to sort himself out? Did he forget? Or did he really not-… The air punched out of him, things starting to fall into place in his own mind. “You seriously spent all of this time thinking I didn’t have feelings for you? Why do you think you smell so different to me?”

Blaine floundered. “Wha- you-. Because- pheromones. Because we’re both gay and your body is telling you-”

“David Karofsky sure doesn’t smell like that,” Kurt stated bluntly. His throat could hardly work anymore. “I-I think I… I think I want to go home, now.”

“Kurt.” Blaine sounded broken, making something inside Kurt’s chest tighten. “Kurt, please. Please just say it for once. I’m so confused. I know you need someone who understands you, but I’m _trying_ and I’m so confused right now and I really, really just want to help you, but I just never have _any_ idea what you really mean. At first I thought that- that yes, we have something between us, but then you shut me off completely two seconds later and I thought-… I thought why would he? I mean, we’ve barely known each other two months, I forced my way into your life, and just because your hormones go crazy around me doesn’t mean there are any actual feelings attached to them. And yeah, you like the way I smell but how the hell am I supposed to know what that means when whenever I try to open up emotionally to you, you practically shove your fingers in your ears and start humming?” Blaine rubs his face, exasperated. “So _what_ is it Kurt? Tell me what is going on.”

 

Kurt’s heart was doing something more than just pumping. It was clenching and expanding like an iron pump. He could feel every pull of it commanding him as deep inside of him the constant stream of another voice yelling at him became more and more unintelligible, turning into the filling buzz of white noise. “Because I don’t know how to be someone’s friend, let alone how to be _more_ than friends. And I’m pretty sure I have feelings for you, and that scares the shit out of me because if I fuck that up, I fuck up the only friendship I’ve ever had.”

The white noise went silent. Everything in the world froze, honing in on the stunned look on Blaine’s face. His bright eyes unblinking, his slack jaw hanging open, his bowtie askew and a curl popping out of its gel on the right side of his forehead.

“Oh,” he said.

And didn’t continue. Kurt’s words remained in the air for an impossibly long moment, Blaine doing nothing but staring at him. “I _meant_ that, you know,” Kurt finally had to assure. “I definitely have feelings for you.”

Eyes still wide, Blaine repeated. “Oh.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said carefully.

“Huh?”

“Did you… did you seriously not know that?” He could see Blaine’s brain short-circuiting. Kurt squinted at him, amazed.

“How the _hell_ am I supposed to know that?” Blaine asked, though not unkind in the slightest. “You’re always pulling away from me.”

“Because I’m afraid that I’m going to scare you off, or that I’ve _already_ scared you off, and I don’t want to be around to see you _tell_ me that I’ve scared you off,” Kurt explained gently. “Because you’re always so nice to me and I didn’t want you to see how much I liked you like that in case you didn’t like me back. I thought that you were just a really nice person and that you’d eventually realize how much of a basket case I was and run off, so I didn’t let myself get too close. I can’t afford that kind of heartache, Blaine, not with the only friend I’ve ever had.”

“I thought that all that you felt for me was hormones,” Blaine explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Slowly, Kurt closed his eyes so that he didn’t explode- from astonishment, from embarrassment, from wanting to smack Blaine upside the head. “Blaine, the hormones…” he swallowed, trying to remain calm as he explained, “pheromones mean more than just a physical want. They indicate compatibility. And that- scared me at first, of course it did, because I didn’t know you. But I can smell so much more than just that. I can tell when you’re nervous or scared and it makes me want to- protect you, and keep you safe, and I can tell that you want to do everything to keep _me_ safe. Pheromones mean that we- we have a connection.” Blaine was staring at him, eyes intense. “So of course I’m going to develop feelings for you. It’s practically _written in my DNA_ that I’m going to develop feelings for you. But what my hormones don’t tell me is if you’re ever going to reciprocate them.”

“Okay, Kurt-” Blaine set himself up to speak, hands waving with emotion. “What part of me wanting to be your friend and elbowing my way into your life makes you think that I wouldn’t reciprocate them?”

“Well it makes sense _now_ ,” Kurt said, exasperated. “But sorry if I have never had someone want to be my friend before, let alone _boyfriend_ , so I didn’t recognize that at first.”

Throat working over, Blaine paused for a beat. “Boyfriend?”

Kurt’s breath caught. “Was this a date?”

Blinking, Blaine looked around the empty parking lot, then leaned in close. “Do you… _want_ it to be a date?”

“…Kind of,” Kurt admitted, eyes flicking downward nervously.

“Well then,” Blaine tapped his finger on his crossed arms. “I wore the right pants.”

Which made Kurt laugh, and then Blaine was also laughing, and then they were laughing together at the sheer ridiculousness. Kurt felt like he was vibrating, all these new feelings in the air, and whatever they held for the future. He was aware of the fact that they were being rather loud and brought his hand up to cover his face slightly, breathing out an “ _Oh my god_.”

“So does this mean,” Blaine slowly sobered, staring at Kurt with an intensity that had him blushing, “that I can… Kurt, can I kiss you?”

Gasping, Kurt felt his heart jump up into his throat. Blaine had just asked if he could kiss him. He couldn’t stop himself from flicking his eyes downward on Blaine’s face at the prospect. God, he couldn’t- but Blaine’s lips looked so soft and pink, and Blaine smelled as sweet as ever. He swallowed roughly. “I-I’ve never been kissed before.” _Properly_ , he didn’t add.

Blaine’s eyes went wide. “We don’t have to,” he offered politely, sounding embarrassed for the sudden outburst.

“I really want you to,” Kurt admitted out loud before thinking about them, and then that was out in the open between them, and he was really blushing, unable to stop looking at Blaine’s lips and just _imagining_ what it would feel like to be kissed by them.

“…Really?” Blaine asked him. Kurt nodded. “Are you… are you _sure_ , though?”

“You _are_ an idiot,” Kurt humored, and before he could talk himself out of it he found himself leaning in, and Blaine was so close Kurt could feel his exhale.

And then they were kissing, and Kurt’s body felt like it was on fire from it. Blaine’s lips felt smooth, locking into place with his bottom lip in between Kurt’s. He knew his tail must be flicking behind him, but he couldn’t feel it or spare it much thought, because it took all of his focus to not forget to keep standing. It felt so right, like this is what they were meant to be doing after all of this time. Their complicated emotional map led to this moment, and it was worth it all to hear the small helpless noise Blaine made in the back of his throat. He noticed that somehow during it all, he had taken Blaine’s face into his hands. Eventually, he pulled back, and Blaine followed his lips helplessly.

“You’re like- like really sure, right?” his voice wavered, squeaking slightly and Kurt laughed. Persistent, Kurt kissed him again, deep and slow, moving slightly more than they had before. He had finally gotten used to the electric feeling of kissing him and was able to suckle slightly on Blaine’s bottom lip to elicit more without it overpowering him. A high, broken whine ripped through Blaine’s throat as he lost himself in it. Kurt had no idea what he was doing, but trusted his instincts to lead him to where he needed to go.

Blaine pulled back, blabbing. “Because, if you, like- if you don’t actually mean it, I-” Kurt shut him up quickly, shivering when Blaine’s hand grabbed his waist and held him close. Blaine was whimpering, his body trembling. He pulled away again. “If this is a joke, Kurt, I don’t think I could-”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt said this time, desperate for Blaine to understand, desperate for him to accept this raw emotion, to take it from him and cherish, to not question- “I’m terrified right now. But I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything.”

And with one final whimper, Blaine pulled Kurt back in. Something inside of Kurt clicked- a missing piece in him found, a faulty screw tightening. Blaine’s scent was everywhere, his lips everything. He could feel Blaine’s rush of acceptance, falling into belief head-first. Arms wound around his back, bringing him in impossibly closer. Their lips found a rhythm, passionate and quick, making up for all of the lost moments when they couldn’t.

Hands clenched into Blaine’s jacket, pulling at the fabric in desperate need to hold onto something. On one kiss their tongues brushed, and it was like opening up a floodgate. Tongues happened; not for eroticism, but for the sheer need to taste each other, to experience each other in this new way. Blaine’s teeth kept scraping at Kurt’s bottom lip, awakening some type of growling beast inside of him.

He pried his lips away to nose Blaine’s chin up so that he could suck hard at the delicate skin under it. Blaine moaned wantonly, loudly, making Kurt’s ears twitch. “Blaine,” he huffed, making Blaine shudder. “Blaine, get in the car.”

“Huh?” Blaine whined, prying his eyes open.

Kurt pulled open the door to the back seat, manhandling Blaine until he got the gist. “ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt growled in frustration when he didn’t.

“ _Oh_ ,” Blaine finally said when he realized, wasting no more time crawling in. Kurt was quick to follow, unable to laugh at Blaine’s obliviousness past his own desperate needs. He shut the door behind him, wary of his tail, then continued the kiss as if nothing had interrupted them.

Though Kurt’s Navigator was spacious, it was still slightly awkward finding a good position. Eventually, Blaine slipped backwards, and Kurt guided him until he was flat against the bench and able to straddle himself over his hips. “Wait- is this- is this too much for you? Are you okay-?” Blaine’s concern for him made his chest flutter, a burst of something- security? admiration? …love?- took over him. He growled in response, his hand running up Blaine’s chest to unzip his jacket and run back down underneath it. “O- _Oh_ -kay then,” Blaine stuttered, his own hands gripping the fabric at the back of Kurt’s neck.

Kurt’s nose managed to find that spot on Blaine’s throat he loved so much- the one right over his jugular where his scent was strongest. He didn’t even know what he was doing, anymore; he bit down over it and simply held it there for a moment, his chest rumbling. The instinctual need to lick, to give Blaine the affection of being cleaned overcame him, and he began running his tongue over the expanse of skin and savoring the flavor. He worked his way around, admiring Blaine’s breathy noises the further back on his neck he went.

Once he was up near the swallow of his ear, Blaine shuddered out a laugh. “Kurt- you’re- ha! That tickles-!”

Kurt detached himself to lick once over Blaine’s lips before pressing them together again. Blaine moaned loudly. His scent was so thick in the air Kurt could hardly breathe, the knowledge that Blaine had swelled in his pants so blatant in it. As soon as he realized this, Kurt’s hips fell down to feel it.

Blaine cried out from the pressure, and Kurt thrived in the noise. The material of Blaine’s pants was soft and left nothing to the imagination. Their cocks lined up perfectly against each other, and Kurt could tell just how thick, just how long, just how much the head curved. He rutted once, the friction glorious. Blaine’s mouth was open against his, no longer kissing, but just simply touching, sharing the same breath, as their focus remained elsewhere. Kurt thrust again.

This time, Blaine buckled into it. So Kurt did it again. And again. Until a rhythm was found between them and Blaine was meeting him. For a few thrusts they matched up, but Blaine seemed to be having trouble keeping up with Kurt’s increasing speed.

“Oh my god,” Blaine shuddered as Kurt started working a frantic pace. _Harder, faster, more, he needed more_ \- “Shit- Kurt-” Blaine babbled, feeling so small in Kurt’s arms, and so wrecked and needy, Kurt just wanted to hold him there and keep him like this forever. All Kurt could feel past the thrumming in his body was the slide of their cocks, confined underneath the layers of clothes but providing a maddening friction. Blaine’s cries were getting more and more desperate, more and more breathy as if he kept forgetting to add voice to them.

The smell of wetness from Blaine’s leaking dick teased Kurt’s nose. Burying his face in the crook of Blaine’s shoulder, he bit down on a tendon to stabilize himself as he worked faster, more reckless, needing to win that final, copious burst-

“Wait- waitwaitwait-”

Kurt stilled, every cell in his body protesting at him for doing so.

“Kurt, you’re growling,” Blaine said, his voice high pitched and wrecked, and Kurt took a moment to study himself. His vision was fuzzy, and he was indeed growling- incredibly loudly. He unclenched his hands when he noticed he was digging his nails into Blaine’s shoulders hard enough to leave angry crescents in his skin. “I don’t think you’re- yourself, I think- Tabatha. Tabatha-”

“Fuck,” Kurt cursed. He pulled back, forcing himself to focus. “Shit. I’m so sorry. And god, right after- I’m so, so sorry Blaine.”

A stream of sweat was glistening all down Blaine’s temples and neck, his hair a complete mess of curls. “Maybe we should- do you want to cool off?” he said, his voice completely strained.

“Blaine.”

“Huh?”

“You’re two seconds from coming in your pants.”

“H- _Ha_ -” he choked, his whole body trembling. “I’m- I’m okay.”

He didn’t really look it at all. It felt as if Kurt knew with every fiber of his being just how on edge Blaine was, just how many ( _hardly any_ ) more thrusts would have taken him right over the edge. He knew that Blaine had been on the very brisk of release before he stopped himself, wanting to make sure Kurt realized he had fallen under the control of his Cat before anything happened.

Kurt’s stomach churned. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” he said. The air around him was thick with scent, heady and suffocating. “God, and right after- I said-” _Right after his whole spiel about this being more than hormones_. He had to lift himself up off of Blaine’s body, shutting off the electric circuits igniting by their shared body contact. “Oh my god, what just happened- I just-”

“Kurt, it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not- I’m trying to prove to you that you mean more to me then hormones and the first thing that I do is hump you like some crazed mutant-mutt in heat-”

Blaine quieted him by grabbing his bicep. “Okay, first off, don’t talk about yourself like that, and second…” he ran the hand soothingly down Kurt’s arm until he reached the wrist, which he circled so that his thumb could rub a patterned on its inside. “Come here,” he offered, sitting up on his elbows. He didn’t continue until Kurt laid himself back down, tentatively, onto Blaine’s chest. Kurt was once again pressing against the obvious bulge in Blaine’s pants, the knowledge of it making him stiffen with anxiety.

Waiting for Blaine to say something was painful. Kurt kept his hands balled up in Blaine’s disheveled shirt up near his armpits. After what felt like a year, Kurt couldn’t help himself. “I’m sorry, Blaine.”

“Kurt, I’m the one who almost came in his pants.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said urgently. He lifted his head up to look Blaine in the eyes. “I really, really do mean it. It’s not hormones. I really, really like you, and I guess it’s just- hard to hold back. Oh, god, I’m-”

“Kurt, I don’t know if you can tell right now, but I’m really, really not upset in the slightest.” Blinking twice, Kurt took in Blaine’s admission. Blaine was smiling back at him, wide and sweet. He shrugged, a sparkle shining in his eyes. “And I kind of want to kiss you again.”

Trying to hold back, Kurt swallowed thickly. “I’ll start attacking you again if you do that.”

Lips pursed, Blaine considered him for a moment. “I guess I need to reassess my earlier statements a bit for you. I didn’t mean that I was _against_ the hormones. We’re both teenagers.”

“Yeah, but I’m-” Kurt started, unable to finish. “Blaine, I didn’t even realize how much I- Blaine, I’m-”

“You’re what, Kurt?” Blaine said sternly, his jaw set. The question caught in Kurt’s throat. “We just have to be more careful. I honestly don’t mind that.” A kiss landed on Kurt’s forehead, “Because it means I get to lay with you for a bit. And try to wrap my head around the fact that you might have developed feelings for me.”

Something in Kurt melted. He unballed one of his fists and laid it flat over Blaine’s chest, forcing himself to breathe slower. “I mean it. I’ve never done this before, so I can’t be sure, but this…” he reassured, just to stifle any lasting doubt in Blaine’s mind. “That was my first kiss, so I didn’t know I would react like that. I guess that kissing you just really…”

“Makes you horny?”

An unflattering snort shot out of Kurt’s nose. He smacked Blaine’s cheek lightly, pleased to find it soft from his grin. He sobered up slightly as he tried to figure his words. “I guess I have to figure out how to control my Cat’s instincts while we’re making out…”

One of Blaine’s eyebrows popped high on his face. “We should practice.”

_o-O-o_


	14. Chapter 14

_o-O-o_

It was the weirdest thing.

How could something so simple have affected his life so much? It seemed to seep into every aspect of his life, this new experience, this new _thing_. He felt it on the drive home; it buzzed around in the air, in the way his toes curled, the way his shoulders lifted, behind his eyelids, in the back of his throat the pit of his stomach the tips of his fingers on his _lips…_ He had never expected anything to feel like this. He, who was so used to doing things alone, always proud of his individuality, was suddenly feeling so different because of another human being.

Should he be denying it? Was it alright for him to decompose like this because of someone else? To give into all of this _newness_ , to let it override his fear? Fear was good; fear kept him safe. But fear was also _tiring_. Letting go of that fear had never felt more natural than this. Maybe it was a bad thing in the long run, but for now…

For now he was happy.

So happy that when he finally got home that night, after skillfully dodging his father’s questions and feigning fatigue, his cheeks actually hurt. He had to indulge himself with a facial massage, because if he fell asleep with that smile, he would surely ache in the morning. Not to mention he was far too young for laugh lines.

He thought things might be different in the morning, he might have gone back to usual by then, but it became evident when he woke up that he might be stuck like this for a while. It certainly seemed to throw Burt for a loop at breakfast.

“So the movie was good?” He asked instead of a greeting when he walked in as Kurt was finishing off some sugary cereal he wasn’t supposed to be eating.

Geez, was it supposed to be so difficult to contain a smile? Did normal people suffer through this often? “Of course; it was as good as always. I told you that last night. You can’t really get more classic that Julie Andrews.”

“I was using metonymy, Kurt,” Burt deadpanned.

His poor attempt at covering his grin shattered. “I’m so proud of you for using that word correctly. Glad to know my vocabulary is rubbing off on you.”

“Kurt.” He only smiled more as his father huffed, taking a last large mouthful off of his spoon. “Are you gunna make me come straight out and ask?”

“Ask what?” Kurt said, and then not giving Burt any time to talk, got up and put his bowl in the dishwasher. “I have to go. I’m meeting Blaine for coffee this morning before he goes to New York.” Burt sighed, rolling his eyes as Kurt placed a kiss to the top of his head and left.

When Kurt got to the shop, it was to see Blaine already sitting at their booth with two cups of coffee and a single red rose on Kurt’s side of the table. Blaine’s nervous scent felt like the most comforting thing in the world. He made haste walking over, picking the flower up as soon as he could reach it. “Oh, Blaine!” he cooed, bringing his nose in close to experience it fully. “How sweet!”

Ducking his head, he pulled up a small vase, already filled with water, from under the table. “I also got you this so you didn’t have to worry about it during school. I figured it looked nicer presented like that.”

“How very considerate,” Kurt said meaningfully, admiring the faint flush to Blaine’s cheeks.

Finally Blaine managed to look Kurt in the eyes, his hazel eyes showing so much _life_ that it took Kurt’s breath away. “Actually…” Blaine trailed off, wording himself. “The rose was kind of a prelude to what I wanted to ask you…” Intrigued, Kurt tilted his head. “I know that things are kind of… well, _tricky_ , for you, and I really want to be as mindful of that as I can. I don’t want to ever push you, or make you feel trapped in any way. I mean- I was reading online a lot, or, well I have been for a while, and I just want to let you know that I respect whatever it is that you have to do for yourself, which is why I wanted to… um, well, ask…”

Kurt reached his hand across the table, coaxing Blaine’s clenched fist to relax. “Blaine,” he said, as encouragingly as he could.

“Well, if you were okay with putting a label on things,” he finally managed. A beat passed where Kurt had to blink, to wrap his head around what Blaine was actually asking. As if he had to defend himself, Blaine continued, “I just- I’ve just been, um. Thinking about what you said last night- that you don’t really know how to be in a relationship. And I’ve been trying to research people who have been in situations like yours, so that I could maybe understand things that might be too much for you, or what you might, on the off chance, need me to do, and I read that sometimes putting labels and stuff on things could be constricting, and I know that for you, especially, it might be even harder for you-”

“Blaine Anderson.”

His head snapped up frantically, his eyes wide, obviously fearful that he might have overstepped. Kurt’s smile grew almost out of control on his face as he managed to wring Blaine’s hands apart with two of his own. Slipping his fingers through the links of Blaine’s, Kurt brought them up close to his own lips to hide his smile behind.

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

It took several long seconds for the words to break through Blaine’s skull. Kurt could see his brain malfunctioning in the way his eye grew vaguely blank. “Uh. Wh- yeah. Yes. That’s- Okay.”

Laughter bubbled up out of Kurt, completely overtaking him. “Well, that’s good! Because I’ve kind of been calling you that in my head all night,” he admitted.

Especially with the color of his eyes, Blaine highly resembled a deer in the headlights. “I thought- you didn’t really say anything definitive, though, so-”

“Blaine!” Kurt giggled. “I fully and completely meant to imply that I want to date you.”

Blaine looked like Kurt had handed him the sun and the stars- and decided to store them in his eyes. “You’re _amazing_ , do you know that?” Blaine insisted, squeezing Kurt’s hands. Rolling his eyes fondly at Blaine’s charm, Kurt shook his head. “I mean it, Kurt. You’re so strong and I’m- I’m just so lucky.”

“Well,” Kurt blushed. “I’ve certainly never been too lucky, myself, but I’m half convinced the universe is trying to make up for all of the shit it’s given me by giving me you in this moment.”

With a kiss to one of Kurt’s knuckles, Blaine let the moment soak in. Eventually, he sighed, “We should get going. I still have to be in homeroom before they call us down to the buses.”

Kurt didn’t even want to let go of Blaine’s hand to drive the two minutes down the road, but Blaine was adamant about wanting to drop a paper off to his English teacher before he left. When they finally did part at Blaine’s homeroom, Kurt found himself remarkably daring. It was evident quickly how neither of them, though proud of their new connection, had the courage to openly flaunt their linked hands. It made him nervous; for once, his fear of the public resided in his sexuality, and how he and Blaine were the only openly gay kids in the entire school.

He could tell that Blaine was exceptionally nervous about this, and as is expected, Kurt remembered, from someone who has been hospitalized because of this in the past. But that wasn’t to say that neither of them didn’t _want_ to be open about their relationship, Kurt could tell. When it came to the point where they had to say goodbye for the weekend, Blaine had blushed, longingly glancing towards Kurt’s lips several times too many.

But Kurt was daring. When he was sure that there were no athletic jackets in the hallway, he rushed in forward to place the quickest peck to the swallow of Blaine’s cheek, which had bubbled up a in smile underneath his lips in response.

He grinned in memory of it all the way to homeroom, acknowledging everyone who tried to stare at him. Settling into his homeroom seat happily, Kurt sighed. All this new excitement was exhausting, he realized.

“Hi Kurt!” Kurt jumped visibly. In front of him, Finn had turned around in his seat. “Oh- sorry, man. I should have warned you before I just- um. Yeah. Hi!”

“Hi,” Kurt replied, maybe a little unsteadily. Finn wasn’t in homeroom often, but even when he was he had never reached out to speak to Kurt before. Unsettled a bit, Kurt asked, “Did you need something?”

Sheepishly, Finn rubbed behind his head. “Oh, no- I was just-… You looked like you were in a good mood. I was just gunna ask what’s up.”

_He was just going to ask what’s up_ , Kurt replayed in his head. “Um,” he started lamely, feeling absurdly like he was put on the spot. He supposes it was a good thing, having Finn genuinely care, but it was still so foreign. “Nothing. I’m just… in a good mood.”

A few seats over, a crude voice called over to them.

“That’s probably because he took a dick down his throat last night.”

One, two, three, four, five pulses of blood rushing to Kurt’s ear as he took in the words spoken to him.

The spit in Kurt’s throat congealed. He recognized the voice instantaneously: Jonathan Frankford. Kurt couldn’t do anything- he couldn’t move or speak from the sudden attack; he had been too blindsided by how good the universe had been to him.

“Probably took it up his ass this morning, too,” he spat, making Kurt’s insides rattle.

Next to Kurt, Finn seemed to tense up, obviously stunned to be witnessing this.

 “What the _fuck_ did you just say to him?!” to Kurt’s surprise, Quinn Fabray, who had been quietly typing away on her phone, turned around to slew with brazen eyes.

Kurt could feel his pulse in every inch of his body. Frankford scoffed, “He sucked Anderson’s dick in the Lima Mall parking lot last night. The faggots had the nerve to walk into this school this morning.” He turned to Kurt, disgust wrinkling his nose. “How’s your gaping asshole-?”

His sentence ran him face-first into the back of Quinn’s hand.  The slap rang, startling the attention of the rest of the room. Their teacher, a portly, nervous man, looked stunned up in the front of the room, completely frozen with a piece of chalk mid-letter into the sentence he had been writing on the board. Quinn radiated authority, exuding an aura that had Kurt quivering. She spoke through her teeth. “If you ever talk like that about Kurt, or anyone who has ever been through the shit he has, again, I will personally remove all of your teeth in one punch.”

His heart in his throat, Kurt couldn’t look away from the scene. Frankford’s cheek was bright red, the indent of the ring on Quinn’s finger violently close to being an open wound. Their nervous teacher began trying to take control of the room, but Kurt couldn’t hear him too well.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his arm. It was Finn, who seemed to have come to himself. “Shoot- sorry again- Are you okay? Do you wanna… go somewhere?”

Swallowing several times, Kurt shook his head, finally managing to look away from where their teacher was laughing nervously and smoothing the incident over. “No,” he said firmly. “No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

He wasn’t okay in the slightest. How did he know? Had Jonathan been in the parking lot last night? Has he told anyone else? The idea snatched every ounce of excitement about the situation away from him. His throat felt tight and hot with shame. Who was he kidding, thinking that he would be able to have a private moment of _happiness_ for himself? Something to share with the one boy who made his stomach flutter and his toes curl? God, what if he knew about how his Cat took over-?

A red Cheerio uniform was in front of him. He started at it, but Quinn bent over until she was level to him, her eyes still fiery, but her tone with an edge of gentleness. It was as if she wanted to pump her determination into him. “Don’t you let _anyone_ try to take what you and Blaine have away from you.”

All Kurt could do was blink blindly at her until the announcement overhead called for the Glee Kids going to New York to report to the choir room, and she left him with the swish of her ponytail.

Though he should have been leaving with her, Finn stayed rooted for a second, looking at Kurt apprehensively. “Why don’t you… come to the choir room with me?” Finn asked nervously. “Just until the end of homeroom.”

“Yeah,” Kurt found himself agreeing numbly. Collecting his books, Kurt made haste following Finn out of the room. A million questions ran through his head: someone had seen him and Blaine last night, and whether it was Jonathan himself or someone else who told him was irrelevant. It was obvious the news would spread around now, if it hadn’t been already by the time Kurt had woken up this morning.

A hand on Kurt’s back startled him. “Sorry!” Finn apologized for the millionth time, yanking his hand away. “Just- um. Well. Stay close, yeah?”

He had been so frazzled that he hadn’t really been paying attention to the immediate world around him. Faint echoing of giggles and whispers rang in his head, and he was fairly certain he hadn’t imagined them, but Finn’s broad hand was on his back again and he didn’t have the chance to look around.

They made it a few more paces before almost running straight into Blaine, who looked even more anxious than Kurt felt. The group simply stared at each other for a moment, some type of dread falling over Blaine’s face.

Apparently the news had spread quickly.

“Let’s go to the choir room,” Blaine said quickly in lieu of a greeting or an explanation as to why he had been heading in the opposite direction in the first place. Kurt couldn’t help but notice how both of Blaine’s hands seemed too busy clutched to his duffle bag for Kurt to seek comfort in one.

They had nearly made it to their destination when they all heard it: the loud, enunciated slur encumbered in a fake cough.

“ _Fags_.”

Kurt winced, but not nearly as hard as Blaine did. Blaine had picked up his step, walking several paces in front and downright fleeing into the safety of the choir room. Kurt ached to follow, but was held back when Finn spun around on his heel.

Kurt had never seen Finn’s face redder. “Who said that?!” Finn raged, making the hairs on Kurt’s tail stand on end. Acting quickly, Kurt ran around to push on his shoulders.

“Finn, stop it. Go in the choir room,” Kurt urged desperately. Before Finn could word the protest on his tongue, Kurt turned his ears down and ordered, “ _Go_!” Cowering under Kurt, though clearly still wanting to fight, Finn reluctantly let Kurt push him the rest of the way.

As soon as he was in the room, he felt Blaine’s hand on his arm. “Are you okay?” he asked frantically. Kurt couldn’t help but notice how wide his pupils had dilated.

“Let’s just sit down?” Kurt suggested, taking Blaine’s wrist and guiding him into one of the red plastic chairs across the room. “Why don’t we take a breath together, okay? Can we just breathe for a second?”

Confused, Blaine followed Kurt’s instructions, breathing in and out and holding when Kurt told him to. After a few moments, he began laughing breathily, his head falling in his hands. “Those are breathing exercises for yoga.”

“They’re working, aren’t they?” Kurt pressed.

Blaine took several long swallows, staring down at the ground with an expression Kurt wanted to rip off of him. “I’m not going to New York.”

“ _What_?!”

“How can I-?”

“Okay, I’m literally going to stop you right there because that is ridiculous, Blaine,” Kurt interrupted harshly. “This Glee club only has twelve members. If you don’t go to Nationals with them, I’m going to have to go and to be your stand in. And that’s not going to happen. Are we clear?”

Blaine’s face washed of color, and for a moment Kurt feared he was about to be sick. Instead, he mumbled, “I think they have a video.”

Kurt’s immediate sentence caught in his throat. Clenching his teeth tight, Kurt forced himself to exhale. “I don’t care.” Blaine’s eyes flashed up toward him, dumbfounded. Kurt took his hand. “Are you still my boyfriend?” he asked, determined. Blaine’s head nodded urgently. “Then it doesn’t matter in the long run, does it?” He watched Blaine’s throat work another rough swallow. Kurt’s shoulders dropped. “Blaine, I have been living with this for my entire life. I know how to deal with it. The only part of me that cares right now is the part of me that’s furious. They don’t have a right to invade our privacy like that, but it doesn’t make the memory invalid. And you missing out on Nationals to baby me is them winning.”

Frowning, Blaine ducked his head. “I just-… feel guilty-”

“I on the other hand feel much better knowing that you won’t have to deal with this until Monday when all of it has died down,” Kurt pressed. “No offense, Blaine, but this is a lot easier for me to deal with than for you. You don’t exactly bode well when it comes to experiencing harassment. For really legitimate reasons, I understand, but it still affects you way too much.”

Whispering now, Blaine said urgently, “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone right now.”

“I’ve managed handling things alone for years.”

“ _Not well_ ,” Blaine mumbled, clearly regretting it as soon as he realized he said it out loud by the way he winced.

Anger sparking in his chest, Kurt bit a little sharply, “Yeah, well _this time_ I have the promise of calling my boyfriend after class to find solace in.”

Blaine’s eyes flashed remorsefully up to Kurt’s several times. “Sorry,” he mumbled again. He sighed loudly. “I know you’re right.”

“And you better remember how to say those words for a long time,” Kurt advised good naturedly, making Blaine crack a smile. “Besides, it doesn’t really bother me as much when people try to attack me for being gay. I would give anything for _that_ to be the worst thing about me in their eyes.”

In front of them, Mr. Schuester had been talking schedules and flight plans; whether he realized Kurt and Blaine were having an incredibly important conversation or not, he didn’t seem bothered by the fact that they hadn’t been listening. Blaine’s body sighed into Kurt’s next to him.

A few more minutes of Schuester’s instructions and it was time for the New Directions to board their bus. Everyone began to file out- Mercedes and Tina both putting in the effort to kindly say goodbye to him. Finn had rushed up to him with the biggest furrow between his brow, asking him to “Stay safe, okay?” and Kurt felt a little flutter of gratefulness in his lower belly.

Strategically, Kurt pulled Blaine back so that he stayed in the empty room. He was confused for only a moment, until Kurt’s hand rested on his cheek, and he met Kurt halfway for a not-as-quick-as-intended, enthusiastic goodbye kiss. By the end of it, Kurt felt like he was going to topple over backwards, his knees close to giving out. “I’ll call you after my nap,” he promised as he pulled back. “I want to know every last detail about New York. A five-page essay on every pigeon you see.”

“Well, you wouldn’t need that if you could’ve just come with us,” Blaine pressed, though not unkind in the slightest. They made their way back to the group. “One day, right?”

Rolling his eyes, Kurt tried not to smile. “I’m sure you could pull it out of me one of these days.”

Eyebrows raising once, Blaine’s words came out like honey, “Sounds enticing.”

Wrinkling his nose, Kurt humored, “My brain took that double entendre in a far grosser way.”

“Some people find grossness just as enticing.”

“Blaine!” Kurt exclaimed, smiling wide. For good measure, he smacked his boyfriend’s bicep. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re the one who wants to be my boyfriend.” Blaine pointed out, his tone bright and flirty.

“Oh, so you finally believe me that I do?” Kurt mused back.

Slyly, Blaine cocked his head, “I might need a little more convincing.”

Blaine almost missed the bus.

_o-O-o_

Of course, telling Blaine that he didn’t care had been a lot easier than figuring out how he was supposed to _actually not care_ about the entire situation. Because he did care.

Quite a lot.

He felt objectified and sexualized in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. It took everything in him to keep reminding himself that what he and Blaine experienced _still was_ special. With the way that people had been acting around him all morning, it was hard to think that there _hadn’t_ been a video posted online. He hadn’t seen anyone in the parking lot last night aside from one or two families shuffling into their cars, but he hadn’t exactly been prepared to look for someone recording them.

And although ‘faggot’ wasn’t the most hard-hitting insult for Kurt, it definitely wasn’t a welcome one. Especially not when it also insulted Blaine in the same breath. He hadn’t realized just how bad the homophobia was in Lima- he was aware it was alive, just not this brutal. There wasn’t even an LGBT+ alliance club for Kurt to confide in if he wanted. Maybe if there had been one, he and Blaine could join. Not that the club would even have many other members, really; Brittany might’ve joined, but who knew with her, and closeted-Santana is someone he didn’t even want to think about to decipher where she would stand.

Without Glee club, Kurt was forced to sit second period in study hall. He could only take about five minutes of the harsh whispers and wads of paper thrown at him before he fled to the library. By the end of that period his phone buzzed with a text.

_‘Our flight just landed. How are things? Please don’t lie.’ –Blaine, 10:38AM_

He sighed greatly, realizing that if Blaine had left that last line out, he probably _would_ have. ‘ _Suffocating. But I can manage_ ,’ he replied.

_‘Let me know how things progress, okay?’ –Blaine, 10:41AM_

Feeling like slamming his head through a wall, Kurt straightened his spine and headed to third period. Third period went a little better than expected; in the very beginning of class, a lowlife with way too much AXE body spray not-covering way too much body odor named Geoff Wolff spat out to him. “Suck any dicks lately?”

Fire flaring inside of his chest, Kurt spun around promptly. “Yeah. When’s the last time _you_ had oral sex?”

Everyone in the room watched him try to flounder for a reaction, and learned to keep their mouths shut for the period.

He had come up with quite a few like-minded responses. “ _Burn in hell,_ _faggot_ ,” someone told him in the hallway. “I can’t wait to try out my new throne,” he replied. “ _How’s your ass_?” “I always got the feeling you were interested in my ass, Michaels.”

“ _Betcha looked like such a faggot when you came_ ,” was his favorite insult by far, simply because of the redundancy _,_ but also because, “You spend a lot of time thinking about me when I come, Thorn?”

Of course, these retorts did not come without consequence. His right arm was covered in bruises from locker shoves, and he spent a good ten minutes talking to his English teacher about his paper while he waited for Jack Weiss to get bored waiting for him to not be in the eye of a faculty member.

He was right about to flee from Thorn when he ran head-on into Coach Sylvester. Her appearance had Thorn skidding to a halt, his fist still clenched.

“Whoa, there, Michael, you certainly weren’t just raising your fist at a fellow classmate, were you?”

Turning red, Thorn pointed angrily toward Kurt. “Did you hear what he said to me?!”

“Of course, but it was the only logical response to what had to have been the stupidest sentence that came out of your brain- which is saying something, since I’ve read your thesis paper.” She changed her tone. “May I remind you that one more physical offense on your record and you’ll be expelled from this school.”

Reluctantly, Thorn scowled away, sending Kurt a dirty look that had no effect on him at all. While secretly extremely glad for her presence, Kurt kept a cool aura around himself. “Thanks,” he said sharply, making to turn away.

“Hold up, Kurtie Cat,” Sue called to him, and Kurt clenched his jaw indignantly and turned back. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be eating lunch on the football field this afternoon-”

“Where I will not be seeking your company,” Kurt shut down.

Far from feeling rejected, Sue smiled, “Of course not, Kitten, I was just letting you know that my office will be empty during that time. I happen to know that it’s a great place to hide away in when one wants to find refuge away from the plague that is high school students.”

Pursing his lips, Kurt took in her words. “Don’t call me ‘Kitten’.”

“What about ‘Kurtie Cat’? You’ve never seemed to mind that one.”

Kurt rolled his eyes.

The rest of the day went in such manner. He had a few more bruises blossom along his arms and one large one on his back. He had to take extra time looking himself over in every reflective surface he could, making sure there were no spitballs or pieces of paper stuck to him. His insults, though clever, were starting to strike back at him just as much as they did forward, as the ones that worked best were the ones where he feigned sexual acts and language on his harassers. It was draining, and though he knew all the stuff he was saying wasn’t true, it still left a bad taste in his mouth to sexualize himself if that way.

It was finally time to pack up and get out of the building. Kurt moved as quickly as he could through the crowded hallways, bent on speeding home so that he could hear Blaine’s voice as soon as he could. He was just shoving his books into his locker when another one came at him.

“Piece of shit queen,” someone sneered. Kurt’s ears immediately twisted around on his head to listen before he trained them to stay forward. He pulled his jacket out and slung it over his arm, slamming the door shut. “Hey, flamer! Where’s your fucktoy boyfriend?”

His entire body seethed so much he had to stop walking. The whole day, the slurs and insults were thrown at him, and he seemed to manage well with it. But _this_ \- something aimed at _Blaine_ \- was a thousand times worse. He had to force himself to breathe, to unclench every muscle in his body and walk away-

“Get him to bend over for you-?”

All of the energy in his body combusted, raging down his arm, into his fist, and into the face of Patrick Penber. All he could see was red, red and the entire lanky body of Patrick Penber as it flew with the power of Kurt’s rage into the row of lockers next to them. Kurt had punched him so hard he fell to the ground.

The rage having left his body with the force of the hit, a jolt of fear coursed through him.

Vividly, he heard someone laughing. “You fucking _go_ , Hummel!” It was Lauren Zizes, he noticed when he turned around, actively cheering him on. He blushed, realizing that a large number of his peers were giving him incredibly impressed looks. Two or three people were applauding.

Figuring that he should probably flee before any teachers suddenly appear, Kurt collected himself and left, flinching when one or two hands clapped his back in a congratulatory manner as he passed.

That could not have gone any worse, Kurt thought to himself, horrified. People were going to start to see him as a full-blown monster if he resorted to physical violence. Will people see him as dangerous? Will he finally get kicked out of school? _Oh god, what was he going to tell Blaine?_

Shaking out the pain in his hand, Kurt forced himself to breathe slowly- the yoga exercises. While it was incredibly liberating to have vented his anger toward society like that, it was something Kurt never thought he’d be able to do. He’d have to figure out a way to control himself better when it comes to Blaine. He picked up his step as he opened the exit doors, hoping to any deity that would take him that he didn’t run into any Neanderthals in the short span of space from here to his c-

A bright flash of light assaulted his eyes.

He took a step back, trying to refocus, but suddenly all of his senses were filling up his brain. Behind his eyelids a few more flashes went off, the clicking of cameras happening so fast it sounded like a hum. Several voices spoke at once.

“Kurt Hummel- How do you feel about the recent media claims on your person?”

“Mr. Hummel, over here! What do you have to say to the students who have harassed you? Should they go to prison?”

“Mr. Hummel! On a scale of one to ten, how emotionally stable are you?”

“Kurt! Kurt! What is it like living with a tail?”

“Mr. Hummel; is it true that you have actually become a rapist yourself?”

Pressed back up against the door, Kurt drained of color. “ _What the_ _f_ -?” he cursed unconsciously, his entire body frozen as more and more questions came. One, two, three, four, five cameras flashing in his face, seven microphones, three camcorders, surrounding him, pressing him back into the small space against the door that was closing in, closing, closing-

He reached behind him to run back, back into the school, back to find some kind of safety, some kind of air- but a slew of students stood pressed against the other side of the door, completely encasing him, and god, there isn’t enough air, there isn’t any room, he’s trapped _trapped_ and these people are _recording_ him-

A camera came too close to him and he was hissing, slapping it away venomously. His tail had puffed up, his ears falling down back on his head, oh god he needed to get _out, he needed to not be trapped under their scrutiny, their questions, their_ cameras _-_

Something grabbed his arm and he scratched, feeling his nails catch deeply in skin. He hissed, and hissed, but people were still screaming his name, calling his attention-

It took him a moment of bearing his teeth to realize the person in front of him, the person he had scratched, was Coach Sylvester. She spoke to him, but the only word that made sense was ‘safe’. She was trying to lead him back into the school, where all of the students were ogling and leering, but Kurt broke out of her hold.

With all his might, Kurt pushed through the crowd of cameras, elbowing and spitting his way through until he could take off at a sprint across the parking lot in the direction of his _home, he needed to go home and be safe from suffocation and bullies and_ cameras.

Something very large brushed passed him- a _car_ , he nearly got hit by a _car_ trying to run across the road. He could hear the tires screeching but he kept on running. There were some shortcuts he knew through people’s back yards, keep him off of the main roads and get him home quicker. Everything went past him in a blur- trees, houses, cars, time, until-

The slam of the front door behind him broke clarity in his mind. He was home- _home_ , finally home and safe and-

Alone.

Alone and suffocating- he couldn’t breathe. Everything had happened so quickly- there had been Patrick Penber and then cameras, cameras and people and so little room and Coach Sylvester and then a car? And then _home, Jesus Christ what just happened?_

_Oh god, you can’t be alone. You cannot be alone right now._ Frantically, he felt around his pockets, his phone stuck inside his pant pocket-

The front door behind him pushed against his back, making him scurry down the hall.

“Kurt?” His father called out to him, and Kurt wept.

_o-O-o_

It had taken a full two hours for Kurt to calm down. Coach Sylvester had called Burt as soon as he had managed to outrun her after he was nearly run over by the car. She had also called the police; apparently, it was illegal for the press to set foot on school property without some kind of special notice, which was why he hadn’t been attacked like that before.

After about an hour of panicking, Kurt was left sobbing into his father’s chest, trying to curl up as tight as he could. He could tell just how angry his father was by the way a couple of veins on his face and neck were bulging, but Burt hid it deep and kept himself calm and open for his son.

“But _why_ are they coming after me?” Kurt worried hysterically sometime in his sobbing state.

“Because they’re horrible people with no tact trying to make money off of a victim by provoking them,” Burt spat, only now giving into a portion of his anger. “They had no right to attack you like that.”

Hiccupping, Kurt’s knuckles turned white where his arms were wrapped around his legs. “It was so bad. I was so-” Burt’s anger sizzled back down as he shushed him.

He had completely forgotten all of his original plans by the time his phone rang.

He jerked awake, halfway into giving into his fatigue, having finally worn himself out of tears and energy to panic. He was in his sunroom, his father having carried him there like he was a little kid again, despite Kurt protesting. His stomach churned over when he saw the name.

Blaine’s voice came out to him as soon as he answered. _“Kurt, oh my god, are you okay? I’m gunna fly home, okay-”_

“Blaine!” Kurt raised his voice. “You need to calm down right now because _I’m_ going to start freaking out again so just-” he swallowed, and thankfully Blaine choked on his words and fell quiet. “You- You know?” Kurt wavered.

_“I just found out- it was on-… I just found out.”_ It was on the news _,_ Kurt deciphered, letting out a deep sigh. Of course it was. _“But it’s okay- I’m gunna fly home right now, I’m booking a flight-”_

“Blaine Devon Anderson, don’t you dare!” Kurt reprimanded.

_“I-”_

“The New Directions need you and I _do not_ need you to be here to baby me!” He demanded. “This is a _school field trip_ and there are _rules_ about when you can or cannot leave which you can get into a lot of trouble for. I’m not _dependent_ on you, so stop acting like I am!”

The other side of the line went quiet for a moment before meekly peeping, _“…That wasn’t what I was-”_

“Yeah, well that’s what it implies when you say stuff like that,” he huffed angrily. “I know how to function without you.”

Much more subdued, Blaine agreed awkwardly. “ _Yeah. Yeah I know. I was just… you know…”_

He felt guilty, Kurt realized. He dropped his face into his palm. “This would have happened if you were here, too. You wouldn’t have magically made them all go away. I might’ve- I might’ve attacked you by accident. Just- just focus on winning that Nationals trophy, okay? New Directions is useless without you keeping everyone together.”

Blaine’s side came through the receiver crackling. _“Yeah, I know. I just feel more useless all of the way out here in New York.”_

Kurt shrugged, even though Blaine wouldn’t see it. “That’s funny, because you were kind of the earth beneath my feet all day, keeping me grounded with just the idea of talking to you.”

He could feel the heat of Blaine’s skin through the phone. _“I didn’t take you for such a poet.”_

The comment broke through to Kurt’s chest. “I guess I’ve turned into a romantic. Who would have known?” Blaine’s chuckles crackled through the connection. “Actually, I’m just extremely dramatic. Like, um…” he swallowed, forcing himself to explain the day’s events, yet making sure he was quiet enough that his dad wouldn’t overhear him, “well, you should probably know that I punched someone so hard they hit the ground, today.”

Taken aback, Blaine took a moment to wrap his head around the sentence. _“Like, you…?”_

“I legitimately sent my knuckles into someone’s jaw,” Kurt reiterated, still keeping his voice to a whisper. He could hear his dad moving around in the other room. “Not, like, unprompted or anything. He just- crossed a line and then he was on the ground.”

_“…Like, one of the reporters…?”_

“No, Patrick Penber.”

_“Oh. Well…”_ Blaine stumbled. _“I mean, good for you for standing up for yourself and all-”_

“I actually think it was one of the dumbest things I could have done,” Kurt confessed, running his hand through the sleep-mussed hairs on his tail. “I don’t even know what came over me, I just- _exploded_. There had to have been _teachers_ in the hallway; I don’t understand how I didn’t end up in Figgins’s office- well, I mean, it happened literally two seconds before I was attacked by cameras, but.”

Blaine let out a dry chuckle, “ _Sounds like an overwhelming five minutes_.” Kurt tensed thinking about it. _“So, maybe try to not do that, in the future if you can avoid it.”_

Laughing a tad hysterically, Kurt agreed, “Thanks Dr. Phil. I didn’t know I even had it in me. It goes against all of my morals.”

_“And he just went straight down?”_

“People clapped,” Kurt confirmed.

“ _And I thought your slaps were bad_ ,” Blaine teased nervously. Though it was meant as a joke, the comment settled low in Kurt’s stomach. He _has_ slapped Blaine, hasn’t he?

The idea washed over him. “Oh my god,” he realized, “I’ve slapped my boyfriend.”

“ _Whoa, no-no-no-”_ Blaine backtracked frantically. “ _No, don’t- Stop it. We weren’t dating at the time. Kurt, we haven’t even been dating for an entire day; you are_ not _an abusive boyfriend. And those circumstances were really special, and I don’t blame you for it._ ”

“But what if I do it again?” he worried, dread overcoming him. He couldn’t help picturing the night before, when his Cat had invaded his intentions with Blaine. “Every time I’ve hit someone it had come out of nowhere; I had no control over it, it just _happened_. What if I do it to you again one day? What if-”

Blaine had been trying to cut him off for a while. “ _Kurt! Just calm down. You’re not an abusive person._ ”

“No, Blaine, will you take this seriously?! This is really, really serious!” Kurt insisted. “If I ever, _ever_ strike you again like that, you have to promise me you’ll protect yourself!”

“ _Okay, I promise, alright? As much as you mean to me, domestic abuse is a horrible thing, and I’d really hope I’d be able to save myself from that._ ” Blaine said, sounding serious enough. “ _But Kurt, you’re not unstable_.”

“But I-”

“ _Kurt, anyone would have reacted the way you have. Penber wasn’t exactly handing you a dozen roses, was he_?” Kurt swallowed, desperately hoping Blaine wouldn’t insist to know what exactly Penber had insulted to make Kurt attack him. “ _And I had… really, really hurt you in a way that you didn’t think was possible. On top of that, you have incredibly strong protective instincts. You only get physical when your safety is put on the line. You attack physically because your protective instincts take over, and your protective instincts take over because you’re scared of getting hurt.”_ He stopped there for a moment, before adding _, “Besides that time with Santana, which was an entirely different reason that doesn’t count_.”

Frowning, Kurt mumbled, “That just sounds like a fancy way of calling me unstable.”

_“It’s not,”_ Blaine insisted. _“You’re protecting yourself. It’s Penber’s own fault he got punched. He’s not a victim. That kid’s an ass.”_

Snorting once, Kurt sighed. “I just… don’t want my Cat to control me like that. Even if it was my Cat, it was still me. And that’s not the person I want to be.”

“ _You’re amazing, Kurt_ ,” Blaine beamed through the telephone, making Kurt’s heart bounce up into his throat. “ _And I- oh, I have to go. We’re leaving the restaurant. Can I call you again before bed_?”

“Of course,” Kurt assured. “Oh, and don’t forget to watch yourself during your solo in Paradise- you like to bring yourself up a half octave when you’re nervous.”

“ _So you_ do _pay attention in Glee club_.”

“You’re cute when you sing.”

Blaine chuckled. “ _Bye, Kurt_.”

“Bye, Boyfriend,” Kurt smiled into his farewell, hitting the end call button before Blaine could respond. He knew that two states over, Blaine was flustering at the term. _How crazy it was_ , he thought to himself, _how someone could bring him around the world and back in a five minute phone call._ Without the prospect of Blaine watching him, Kurt could allow himself to revert back to being scared- but he didn’t want to. Perhaps if he actually started being as strong as he pretended he was when with his boyfriend, everything would be easier. Fake it till you make it, right?

He ran his thumb over the screen of his phone, contemplating. What happened today sucked, it really did, but there was nothing Kurt could do about it anymore. He reacted the way he had because of his shitty past and his shitty anxiety. Maybe if he could teach himself to learn from and deal with it, it wouldn’t happen again.

“So what’s this about you hitting people?” Kurt startled at his dad, who had appeared at the end of the room.

Groaning, Kurt pulled the comforter that had pooled onto the couch back up around him to hide his face. “That was a private conversation!”

“Hey, you’re not in trouble,” Burt told him, taking a seat in the squashy armchair near Kurt’s feet. “You think I haven’t punched someone for being an ass before when I was your age? You just said it kind of loudly, and I wanted a way to break the ice to bring up the fact that you called whoever was on the phone ‘Blaine’ as well as ‘boyfriend’ during that conversation.” Kurt groaned louder, making Burt chuckle. “Which you could have just told me about this morning.”

“You haven’t actually told me that you’re dating Carole, either,” Kurt noted, muffled from under the blanket.

“That’s because it was blatantly obvious, and also because _you_ don’t set the rules on Carole and I’s relationship.” Kurt popped out from under his cover, his jaw hanging low. Burt raised his eyebrows sternly, though the corner of his mouth quirked. “Now you boys do whatever you do when you’re not in my house, but he’s not allowed in your room anymore for more than ten minute increments alone.”

Dumbfounded, Kurt stuttered, “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” Burt confirmed.

“But-?!”

“But nothing. Those are the rules,” Burt said sternly, pointing his finger. Kurt’s jaw snapped shut, his lips pursing on contact as his arms crossed over his chest. “Like I said, I’m not gunna stop you from doing whatever you guys want to do, but. My house my rules and all that fathering stuff.”

Despite himself, Kurt could feel his cheeks heating up. “It’s not like- not like we’d do something either of us aren’t comfortable with.” He desperately tried to keep last night out of the forefront of his mind. He had _stopped_ last night the moment Blaine hesitated.

“You’d be surprised,” he mumbled. Sitting back in his chair, Burt raised his eyebrows and spoke with finality, “Beds are off the table for you right now. I expect to at least wait until you’re eighteen until I give you the Talk. And if you’re on the couch, at least save it until I’m out of the house.”

_Well it’s not like having you in the house would put us in the mood anyway_ , Kurt thought sourly. “I turn eighteen at the end of the month,” he noted.

“And I expect you to heed my rules while I still have all the legal rights to you,” Burt grumbled. There was an air of humor to it that Kurt wasn’t a fan of.

He kicked the blanket off of himself. “I’m gunna go make something quick for dinner.”

Something inside of Kurt’s chest felt unnerved, like a piece of him had been set down askew from where it belonged. _So this is what it’s like being a normal teenager_ , Kurt thought to himself. A father limiting possible sexual situations and the teenage boy throwing a fit over it. But still, Kurt wasn’t normal. He wasn’t throwing a _fit_.

It’s not like he and Blaine were going to have a ridiculously abundant sexual relationship at this point in time, but the idea of someone else, even his father, putting a limit on when he can and cannot be sexual felt constricting. It had taken years of therapy and coming to terms with himself to even get used to the _idea_ of owning a sex life. Especially with what happens to him at the start of every spring. This was the first time he actually had a chance to work on being comfortable with himself like that. They wouldn’t even be _doing_ anything for a long time…

He didn’t think he and Blaine would ever be doing anything while Burt was in the house anyway. All the rule really did was take away quality, PG alone time in Kurt’s room. Perhaps he should bring up the conversation once more… he would _not_ be a teenager throwing a fit because his parents were being protective: he’d be a survivor taking his body back into his own hands for once.

Just as Kurt was draining the spaghetti noodles, his phone started ringing. Figuring it was Blaine again, he fished it out of his pocket- and then furrowed his eyes at the unknown number.

Curiously, he answered the call. “Hello?” he started warily.

“ _Hi, is this Kurt Hummel_?”

A heavy ball of dread dropped down in Kurt’s stomach at the unfamiliar female voice. “Who is this?” he asked, forgetting about his noodles going cold and sticky in the strainer.

“ _This is Karla Bijapur of the Oprah Winfrey Network calling for a special request_ ,” the accented voice chirped as Kurt’s phone slipped from his hand.

It clattered onto the counter, Kurt fumbling to pick it back up, “This is- I- _What_?!”

“ _Is this Kurt Hummel_?” the woman asked again.

“How did you get this number?” Kurt demanded.

The line went quiet for a quick second, before the peppy voice continued. _“I don’t deal with that, sir. I was just given a number and told to ask you about if you were interested in doing a documentary with Ms. Winfrey. She said that she’d be ecstatic to handle your story-”_

“ _Stop_ ,” Kurt commanded when it became too much for him. The woman all but short circuited over the line. “Okay. Karla, was it? I need you to do me a favor,” he took a deep breath, urging his beating heart to chill out for just a second. “I need you to find out for me how the people you got this number from found it, and then call me back. Okay?”

“ _I… yeah, okay, I can do that_ ,” Karla said meekly.

“Thank you. Bye,” Kurt ended the call rather rudely, too immersed in the absurdity of the call.

“Who was that?” Burt asked him, having just walked into the kitchen.

Eyebrows raised high on his head, Kurt told him, “The Oprah Winfrey Network.” Burt’s shoulders fell grandly as he slumped into his seat at the table. Remembering his meal, Kurt continued his work of putting the pasta into the pot, adding a few spoonfuls of sauce to try to un-clump the noodles.

“We’ll have to find a way to change your number,” Burt grumbled. “Go in disguise to the store or something.”

After a few stale minutes of eating, his ringtone blasted through the air. Inhaling patience and courage, Kurt took the call, answering with a stern, though not unkind, “Yes?”

“ _Hi, Kurt Hummel_? _This is Karla again_ ,” the now nerve-wracked voice began. “ _Um. It seems that we’ve been trying to get a hold of you for quite some time now, but you didn’t have a public number to reach. Our team had to do a bit of digging online to try to contact you. We’ve sent several emails and direct messages to you on Twitter and YouTube and the emails attached to it, but we never got a response.”_ She didn’t answer his question, so Kurt remained silent until she caught on. _“When we couldn’t contact you we had to get in contact with the Representors of Twitter and ask if you at one point had a phone number linked to your account_.”

“I deleted that off of that account a few weeks ago when it was discovered,” Kurt informed, his knuckles white.

“ _Twitter has a near infinite storage system for such things_ ,” Karla elaborated, “ _You’ll find that in their policy it is perfectly legal to-_ ”

“I’m going to ask you to stop again,” Kurt interrupted, a gust of air shooting through his nose. “I really, really do not mean to be a bitch to you, Karla. I understand that you’re just doing your job. But this situation is incredibly stressful for me in ways that you could never imagine, so my words are going to come out the way that they come out. Don’t you think that there is a _reason_ why it was so hard to contact me?”

Karla made a few choked words.

“I don’t want to be painted as that freak on an Oprah special. I don’t want any sort of publicity. I have no cause for people to invest in, no charity to support. Me going on your show is… it’s just entertainment. I spent six years too many being someone’s entertainment; I can’t let myself fall back into that. I’m just a person, and that’s all I want to be. I ask that you respect that, and that you don’t go digging around for more ways to contact me because it is incredibly creepy.”

Silence for a few seconds, then Karla spoke submissively. “ _I understand, Mr. Hummel. I’ll tell Ms. Winfrey. If you ever change your mind, though, please do not hesitate to call this number back_.”

Shoulders dropping, Kurt allowed himself to smile. “Before you go, though, can you make sure Ms. Winfrey knows that I absolutely love her?”

Karla’s chuckle seemed to lighten the tension. “ _I’ll be sure. Sorry for any stress we’ve caused_.”

As soon as he hung up, he threw the look his father gave him a raised eyebrow. “I was sitting here waiting for dinner and a show. You handled that much more civil than I’m sure you wanted to.”

“I can’t afford to give anyone that sort of impression of me anymore,” Kurt admits, poking at the heap of uneaten spaghetti on his plate. “If I had exploded at her, who knows what sort of things the Oprah Winfrey Network would start saying about me. I can’t afford to have that sort of reputation.” Dropping his fork, Kurt sighed, “I’m not hungry anymore. I’m gunna go… take a nap and avoid hissing at any more camera men.”

_o-O-o_


End file.
